Fifty Shades Of Regina Mills
by gab95lin
Summary: Emma Swan finds love in a place where a storm has stroke before her. Can love help heal the wounds that have being there fore years? And at the end can Regina Mills find the path to her happy ending? SwanQueen Fic.
1. Chapter 1: The Interview

**Hello lovelies, **

**For this fanfic all i'm doing is adapting Fifty Shades of Grey to fit with Emma Swan and Regina Mills from Once Upon A Time. In this story there is no curse and is in AU. Enjoy it! And hope to hear back from all of you. **

**-Gab95Lin**

**Disclimer: I do not own anything. The story is not mine or the characters. **

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Interview**

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair – it just won't behave, and damn Ruby DeLucas for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. _I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. _Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, blonde-haired girl with green eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable.

Ruby is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she'd arranged to do, with some mega-industri- alist tycoon I've never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered. I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I'm supposed to be working this afternoon, but no today I have to drive a hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of Mills Enterprises Holdings Inc. As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our University, her time is extraordinarily precious much more precious than mine but she has granted Ruby an interview. A real coup, she tells me. Damn her extra-curricular activities.

Ruby is huddled on the couch in the living room.

"Emma, I'm sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we'll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can't blow this off. Please," Ruby begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, dark chocolate hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

"Of course I'll go Ruby. You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or Tylenol?"

"Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I'll transcribe it all."

"I know nothing about her," I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic. "The questions will see you through. Go. It's a long drive. I don't want you to be late." "Okay, I'm going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later." I stare at her fondly. _Only for you, Ruby, would I do this._

"I will. Good luck. And thanks Emma as usual, you're my lifesaver."  
Gathering my satchel, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I can-not believe I have let Ruby talk me into this. But then Ruby can talk anyone into anything. She'll make an exceptional journalist. She's articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful – and she's my dearest, dearest friend.

The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, WA toward Portland and the I-5. It's early, and I don't have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Ruby's lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK. I'm not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal.

My destination is the headquarters of Mrs. Mills's global enterprise. It's a huge twenty- story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect's utilitarian fantasy, with Mills House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It's a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I'm not late as I walk into the enormous – and frankly intimi- dating – glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.

Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She's wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate.

"I'm here to see Mrs. Mills. Emma Swan for Ruby DeLucas."

"Excuse me one moment, Miss Swan." She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self- consciously before her. I am beginning to wish I'd borrowed one of Ruby's formal blazers rather than wear my navy blue jacket. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my sensible brown knee-length boots and a blue sweater. For me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn't intimidate me.

"Miss DeLucas is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Swan. You'll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor." She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can't help my smirk. Surely it's obvious that I'm just visiting. I don't fit in here at all. _Nothing changes, _I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators past the two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I'm in another large lobby again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I'm confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young blonde woman dressed impec- cably in black and white who rises to greet me.

"Miss Swan, could you wait here, please?" She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spa- cious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city toward the Sound. It's a stunning vista, and I'm momentarily paralyzed by the view. _Wow._

I sit down, fish the questions from my satchel, and go through them, inwardly curs- ing Ruby for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this woman I'm about to interview. She could be ninety or she could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I've never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colos- sal glass and stone edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. _Get a grip, Swan. _Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Mills is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It's like Stepford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

"Miss Swan?" the latest blonde asks.  
"Yes," I croak, and clear my throat. "Yes." There, that sounded more confident.  
"Mrs. Mills will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?"  
"Oh please." I struggle out of the jacket.  
"Have you been offered any refreshment?"  
"Um – no." Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?  
Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.  
"Would you like tea, coffee, water?" she asks, turning her attention back to me.  
"A glass of water. Thank you," I murmur.  
"Olivia, please fetch Miss Swan a glass of water." Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

"My apologies, Miss Swan, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mrs. Mills will beanother five minutes."

Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.  
"Here you go, Miss Swan."  
"Thank you."  
Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.

Perhaps Mrs. Mills insists on all her employees being blonde. I'm wondering idly if that's legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African- American man with short dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door. "Golf, this week, Mills."

I don't hear the reply. She turns, sees me, and smiles, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She's more nervous than me!

"Good afternoon ladies," he says as he departs through the sliding door.

"Mrs. Mills will see you now, Miss Swan. Do go through," Blonde Number Two says. I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

"You don't need to knock – just go in." She smiles kindly.

I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first into the office.

Double crap – me and my two left feet! I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mrs. Mills's office, and gentle hands are around me helping me to stand. I am so em- barrassed, damn my clumsiness. I have to steel myself to glance up. Holy cow – she's so young.

"Miss DeLucas." She extends a long-fingered hand to me once I'm upright. "I'm Regina Mills. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?"

So young – and attractive, very attractive. She's not too tall and not too short, dressed in a fine gray power suit, white bottom up shirt that let her accentuate her breast without showing too much with unruly dark chocolate colored short hair and intense, bright brown eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice.

"Um. Actually" I mutter. If this girl is over thirty then I'm a monkey's uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in her and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate.

"Miss DeLucas is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Mills."

"And you are?" Her voice is warm, possibly amused, but it's difficult to tell from her impassive expression. She looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

"Emma Swan. I'm studying English Literature with Rubs, um... Ruby... um... Miss DeLucas at Washington State."

"I see," she says simply. I think I see the ghost of a smile in her expression, but I'm not sure.

"Would you like to sit?" She waves me toward a white leather buttoned L-shaped couch.

Her office is way too big for just one woman. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there's a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white – ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

"A local artist. Trouton," says Mills when she catches my gaze.

"They're lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary," I murmur, distracted both by her and the paintings. She cocks her head to one side and regards me intently.

"I couldn't agree more, Miss Swan," she replies, her voice soft and for some inexpli- cable reason I find myself blushing.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Nerfititi who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Ruby's questions from my satchel. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mrs. Mills says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at her, she's watching me, one hand relaxed in her lap and the other cupping her chin and trailing her long index finger across her lips. I think she's trying to suppress a smile.

"Sorry," I stutter. "I'm not used to this."

"Take all the time you need, Miss Swan," she says.  
"Do you mind if I record your answers?"  
"After you've taken so much trouble to set up the recorder you ask me now?"  
I flush. She's teasing me? I hope. I blink at her, unsure what to say, and I think she takes pity on me because she relents. "No, I don't mind."

"Did Ruby, I mean, Miss DeLucas, explain what the interview was for?"  
"Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year's graduation ceremony."

_Oh! _This is news to me, and I'm temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that some-one not much older than me – okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega successful, but still – is going to present me with my degree. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.

Good," I swallow nervously. "I have some questions, Mrs. Mills." I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

"I thought you might," she says, deadpan. She's laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more in- timidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?" I glance up at her. Her smile is rueful, but she looks vaguely disappointed.

"Business is all about people, Miss Swan, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well." She pauses and fixes me with her gray stare. "My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it's always down to good people."

"Maybe you're just lucky." This isn't on Ruby's list – but she's so arrogant. Her eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

"I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Swan. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said 'the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.'"

"You sound like a control freak." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Swan," she says without a trace of humor in her smile. I look at her, and she holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.

Why does she have such an unnerving effect on me? Her overwhelming good-looks maybe? The way her eyes blaze at me? The way she strokes her index finger against her lower lip? I wish she'd stop doing that.

"Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things," she continues, her voice soft.

"Do you feel that you have immense power?" _Control Freak. _

"I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Swan. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so."

My mouth drops open. I am staggered by her lack of humility.  
"Don't you have a board to answer to?" I ask, disgusted.  
"I own my company. I don't have to answer to a board." She raises an eyebrow at me.

I flush. Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, she's so arrogant. I change tack.

"And do you have any interests outside your work?"

"I have varied interests, Miss Swan." A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "Very varied." And for some reason, I'm confounded and heated by her steady gaze. Her eyes are alight with some wicked thought.

"But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?"

"Chill out?" She smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. She really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking.

"Well, to 'chill out' as you put it I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits." She shifts in her chair. "I'm a very wealthy woman, Miss Swan, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies."

I glance quickly at Ruby's questions, wanting to get off this subject.

"You invest in fashion. Why, specifically?" I ask. Why does she make me so uncomfortable?

"I like to design things. I like to know how things sell and look: what makes things the high top, how to design and redesign. And I have a love for women's fashion. What can I say?"

"That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts." Her mouth quirks up, and she stares appraisingly at me.  
"Possibly. Though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart." "Why would they say that?"

"Because they know me well." Her lip curls in a wry smile.

"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?" And I regret the question as soon as I say it. It's not on Ruby's list.

"I'm a very private person, Miss Steele. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don't often give interviews," he trails off.

"Why did you agree to do this one?"

"Because I'm a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn't get Miss DeLucas off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity."

I know how tenacious Ruby can be. That's why I'm sitting here squirming uncomfort- ably under her penetrating gaze, when I should be studying for my exams.

"You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?"

"We can't eat money, Miss Swan, and there are too many people on this planet who don't have enough to eat."

"That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world's poor?"

She shrugs, very non-committal.

"It's shrewd business," she murmurs, though I think she's being disingenuous. It doesn't make sense – feeding the world's poor? I can't see the financial benefits of this, only the virtue of the ideal. I glance at the next question, confused by her attitude.

"Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?"

"I don't have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle – Carnegie's: 'A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.' I'm very singular, driven. I like control – of myself and those around me."

"So you want to possess things?" _You are a control freak.  
_"I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do."  
"You sound like the ultimate consumer."  
"I am." She smiles, but the smile doesn't touch her eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can't help thinking that we're talking about something else, but I'm absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it's just me. I just want this interview to be over. Surely Ruby has enough material now? I glance at the next question.

"You were adopted. How far do you think that's shaped the way you are?" Oh, this is personal. I stare at her, hoping she's not offended. Her brow furrows.

"I have no way of knowing."  
My interest is piqued.  
"How old were you when you were adopted?"  
"That's a matter of public record, Miss Swan." Her tone is stern. I flush, again. _Crap. _

Yes of course – if I'd known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. I move on quickly.

"You've had to sacrifice a family life for your work."  
"That's not a question." She's terse.  
"Sorry." I squirm, and she's made me feel like an errant child. I try again. "Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?"

"I have a family. I have a sister and two loving parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that."

"Are you bisexual, Mrs. Mills?"

She inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. _Crap. _Why didn't I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell her I'm just reading the questions? Damn Ruby and her curiosity!


	2. Chapter 2: Meeting Again

**Hi lovelies, **

**Here is the second chapter of this story, please leave reviews as what you think about the arrange to this story.**

**-XOXO Gab95Lin.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from this story.**

"No Emma, I'm not." She raises her eyebrows, a cool gleam in her eyes. She does not look pleased.

"I apologize. It's um... written here." It's the first time she's said my name. My heart- beat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.

She cocks her head to one side.  
"These aren't your own questions?"  
The blood drains from my head. _Oh no.  
_"Err... no. Ruby – Miss DeLucas – she compiled the questions."  
"Are you colleagues on the student paper?" _Oh crap. _I have nothing to do with the student paper. It's her extra-curricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame.

"No. She's my roommate."  
She rubs her chin in quiet deliberation, her brown eyes appraising me.  
"Did you volunteer to do this interview?" she asks, her voice deadly quiet.  
Hang on, who's supposed to be interviewing whom? Her eyes burn into me, and I'm compelled to answer with the truth.

"I was drafted. She's not well." My voice is weak and apologetic.  
"That explains a great deal."  
There's a knock at the door, and Blonde Number Two enters.  
"Mrs. Mills, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes." "We're not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting."  
Andrea hesitates, gaping at her. She's appears lost. She turns he head slowly to face her and raises his eyebrows. She flushes bright pink. _Oh good. It's not just me. _"Very well, Mrs. Mills," she mutters, then exits. She frowns, and turns her attention back to me.

"Where were we, Miss Swan?"  
_Oh, we're back to 'Miss Swan' now.  
_"Please don't let me keep you from anything."  
"I want to know about you. I think that's only fair." Her brown eyes are alight with curiosity. Double crap. Where's she going with this? She places her elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples her fingers in front of her mouth. Her mouth is very... distracting. I swallow.

"There's not much to know," I say, flushing again.  
"What are your plans after you graduate?"  
I shrug, thrown by his interest. _Come to Seattle with Ruby, find a place, find a job. _I haven't really thought beyond my finals."I haven't made any plans, Mrs. Mills. I just need to get through my final exams."

Which I should be studying for now rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile of- fice, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze.

"We run an excellent internship program here," she says quietly. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is she offering me a job?

"Oh. I'll bear that in mind," I murmur, completely confounded. "Though I'm not sure I'd fit in here." Oh no. I'm musing out loud again.

"Why do you say that?" She cocks her head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" _I'm uncoordinated, scruffy, and I'm not blonde._

"Not to me," she murmurs. Her gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from her scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers. _What's going on? _I have to go – now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

"Would you like me to show you around?" she asks.  
"I'm sure you're far too busy, Mrs. Mills, and I do have a long drive."  
"You're driving back to WSU in Vancouver?" She sounds surprised, anxious even. She glances out of the window. It's begun to rain. "Well, you'd better drive carefully." Her tone is stern, authoritative. Why should she care? "Did you get everything you need?" she adds. "Yes ma'am," I reply, packing the recorder into my satchel. Her eyes narrow, speculatively.

"Thank you for the interview, Mrs. Mills."  
"The pleasure's been all mine," she says, polite as ever.  
As I rise, she stands and holds out her hand.  
"Until we meet again, Miss Swan." And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I'm not sure which. I frown. When will we ever meet again? I shake her hand once more, astounded that that odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.

"Mrs. Mills." I nod at her. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, she opens it wide.

"Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Swan." She gives me a small smile. Obviously, she's referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into her office. I flush.

"That's very considerate, Mrs. Swan," I snap, and her smile widens. _I'm glad you find me entertaining, _I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I'm surprised when she follows me out. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.

"Did you have a coat?" Mills asks.

"Yes." Olivia leaps up and retrieves my jacket, which Mills takes from her before she can hand it to me. She holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on. Mills places her hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp at the contact. If she notices my reaction, she gives nothing away. Her long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on her. The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. _I really need to get out of here. _When I turn to look at her, she's leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. She really is very, very good-looking. It's distracting. Her burning brown eyes gaze at me.

"Emma," she says as a farewell.

"Regina," I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I'm free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what's left of my equilibrium.

No woman has ever affected me the way ReginaMills has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it her looks? Her civility? Wealth? Power? I don't understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven's name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap – what _was _that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.

As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I'm over-reacting to something that's imaginary. Okay, so she's very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with herself – but on the flip side, she's arrogant, and for all her impeccable manners, she's autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. She may be arrogant, but then she has a right to be she's accomplished so much at such a young age. She doesn't suffer fools gladly, but why should she? Again, I'm irritated that Ruby didn't give me a brief biography.

While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I'm truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic – as if she had a hidden agenda. And Ruby's questions – ugh! The adoption and asking her if she was bisexual! I shudder. I can't believe I said that. _Ground, swallow me up now! _Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Ruby DeLucas!

I check the speedometer. I'm driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it's the memory of two penetrating brown eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Mill's more like a man double her age.

_Forget it, Em, _I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it's been a very interesting expe- rience, but I shouldn't dwell on it_. Put it behind you. _I never have to see her again. I'm immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit the 1-5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want.

We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Vancouver, Washington, close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. I'm lucky – Ruby's parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It's been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Ruby is go- ing to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini- disc. Hopefully I won't have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.

"Em! You're back." Ruby sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She's clearly been studying for finals though she's still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard.

"I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner."

"Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over." I wave the mini- disc recorder at her.

"Em, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was she like?" Oh no here we go, the Ruby DeLucas Inquisition.

I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?

"I'm glad it's over, and I don't have to see her again. She was rather intimidating, you know." I shrug. "She's very focused, intense even and young. Really young."

Ruby gazes innocently at me. I frown at her.

"Don't you look so innocent. Why didn't you give me a biography? She made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research." Kate clamps a hand to her mouth.

"Jeez, Emma, I'm sorry – I didn't think."  
I huff.

"Mostly she was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy like she's old before her time. She doesn't talk like a woman of twenty something. How old _is s_he anyway?"

"Twenty-seven. Jeez, Em, I'm sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I'll start transcribing the interview."

"You look better. Did you eat your soup?" I ask, keen to change the subject.

"Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I'm feeling much better." She smiles at me in grati- tude. I check my watch.

"I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton's." "Emma, you'll be exhausted."

"I'll be fine. I'll see you later."

I've worked at Clayton's since I started at WSU. It's the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I've worked here, I've come to know a little bit about most everything we sell – although ironically, I'm crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I'm much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of girl. I'm glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn't Regina Mills. We're busy – it's the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me.

"Emma! I thought you weren't going to make it today."  
"My appointment didn't take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours."  
"I'm real pleased to see you."  
She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I'm soon absorbed in the task.

When I arrive home later, Ruby is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she's concentrating and typing furiously. I'm thoroughly drained – exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton's. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven't done today because I was holed up with_... her. _

"You've got some good stuff here, Ems. Well done. I can't believe you didn't take her up on her offer to show you around. She obviously wanted to spend more time with you." She gives me a fleeting quizzical look.

I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn't the reason, surely? She just wanted to show me around so I could see that she was lord of all she surveyed. I realize I'm biting my lip, and I hope Ruby doesn't notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcription.

"I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?" she asks.  
"Um... no, I didn't."  
"That's fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don't have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn't she?" I flush.

"I suppose so." I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed.

"Oh come on, Emma even you can't be immune to her looks." She arches a perfect eyebrow at me.

_Crap! _I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy.

"You probably would have got a lot more out of her."

"I doubt that, Emma. Come on – she practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well." She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen.

"So what did you really think of her?" Damn, she's inquisitive. Why can't she just let this go? _Think of something – quick._

"She's very driven, controlling, arrogant – scary really, but very charismatic. I can un- derstand the fascination," I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all.

"You, fascinated by a woman? That's a first," she snorts.

I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can't see my face.

"Why did you want to know if she was bisexual? Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and she was pissed to be asked too." I scowl at the memory.

"Whenever he's in the society pages, she never has a date."

"It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I'm glad I'll never have to lay eyes on her again."

"Oh, Emma, it can't have been that bad. I think she sounds quite taken with you." _Taken with me? _Now Ruby's being ridiculous.

"Would you like a sandwich?"

"Please."

We talk no more of Regina Mills that evening, much to my relief. Once we've eaten, I'm able to sit at the dining table with Ruby and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on _Tess of the D'Urbervilles. _Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it's midnight, and Ruby has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I've accomplished so much for a Monday.

I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother's quilt that she made for me, it was my name sow it with purple letters around me, close my eyes, and I'm instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and brown eyes.

For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton's. Ruby is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she's much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. I call my mom in Georgia to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final ex- ams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making – my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she's bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It'll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn't mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Bob – her relatively new but much older husband – is keeping an eye on her now that I'm no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three.

"How are things with you, Emma?"

For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom's full attention

"I'm fine."

"Emma? Have you met someone?" _Wow... how does she do that? _The excitement in her voice is palpable.

"No, Mom, it's nothing. You'll be the first to know if I do."

"Emma, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me."

"Mom, I'm fine. How's Bob?" As ever, distraction is the best policy.  
Later that evening, I call David, my stepdad, Mom's Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It's a brief conversation. In fact, it's not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. David is not a talker. But he's still alive, he's still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he's not. David is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him.

Friday night, Ruby and I are debating what to do with our evening we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend José, clutching a bottle of champagne.

"José! Great to see you!" I give him a quick hug. "Come in."

José is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we've been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and José Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too. José is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He's pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. José has a great eye for a good picture.

"I have news." He grins, his dark eyes twinkling.

"Don't tell me – you've managed not to get kicked out for another week," I tease, and he scowls playfully at me.

"The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month."

"That's amazing – congratulations!" Delighted for him, I hug him again. Ruby beams at him too.

"Way to go José! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." She grins.

"Let's celebrate. I want you to come to the opening." José looks intently at me. I flush. "Both of you, of course," he adds, glancing nervously at Ruby.

José and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he'd like to be more. He's cute and funny, but he's just not for me. He's more like the brother I never had. Ruby often teases me that I'm missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is – I just haven't met anyone who... well, whom I'm attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights.

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expecta- tions are far too high. But in reality, nobody's ever made me feel like that.

_Until very recently, _the unwelcome, still small voice of my subconscious whispers. NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful inter- view. _Are you bisexual, Mrs. Mills? _I wince at the memory. I know I've dreamt about her most nights since then, but that's just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely?

I watch José open the bottle of champagne. He's tall, and in his jeans and t-shirt he's all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, José's pretty hot, but I think he's finally getting the message: we're just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and José looks up and smiles.

Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick – the two other part-timers – and I are all rushed off our feet. But there's a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I'm sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I'm engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we've ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up... and find myself locked in the bold gray gaze of Regina Mills who's standing at the counter, staring at me intently.

_Heart failure._

"Miss Swan. What a pleasant surprise." Her gaze is unwavering and intense.

Holy crap. What the hell is sh_e _doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in her cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can't locate my brain or my voice.

"Mrs. Mills," I whisper, because that's all I can manage. There's a ghost of a smile on her lips and her eyes are alight with humor, as if she's enjoying some private joke.

"I was in the area," she says by way of explanation. "I need to stock up on a few things. It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Swan." Her voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel... or something.

I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I'm blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of her standing before me. My memories of her did not do her justice. She's not merely good-looking – she's the epitome of female beauty, breathtaking, and she's here. Here in Clayton's Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

"Emma. My name's Emma," I mutter. "What can I help you with, Mrs. Mills?"

She smiles, and again it's like she's privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I've-worked-in-this-shop-for-years façade. _I can do this._

"There are a few items I need. To start with, I'd like some cable ties," she murmurs, her brown eyes cool but amused.

_Cable ties?_

"We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?" I mutter, my voice soft and wavery. _Get a grip, Swan. _A slight frown mars Mill's rather lovely brow.

"Please. Lead the way, Miss Swan," she says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I'm concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet – my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I'm so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning.

"They're in with the electrical goods, aisle eight." My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at her and regret it almost immediately. Damn, she's gorgeous. I blush.

"After you," she murmurs, gesturing with her long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand.

With my heart almost strangling me – because it's in my throat trying to escape from my mouth – I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. _Why is she in Portland? Why is she here at Clayton's? _And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain – probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: s_he's here to see you. _No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beauti- ful, powerful, urbane woman want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head.

"Are you in Portland on business?" I ask, and my voice is too high, like I've got my finger trapped in a door or something. _Damn! Try to be cool Emma!_

"I was visiting the WSU farming division. It's based at Vancouver. I'm currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science," she says matter-of-factly. _See? Not here to find you at all, _my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts.

"All part of your feed-the-world plan?" I tease.

"Something like that," she acknowledges, and her red lips quirk up in a half smile.  
She gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton's. What on Earth is she going to do with those? I cannot picture her as a do-it-yourselfer at all. Her fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. She bends and selects a packet.

"These will do," she says with her oh-so-secret smile, and I blush. "Is there anything else?"  
"I'd like some masking tape."  
_Masking tape?_

"Are you redecorating?" The words are out before I can stop them. Surely she hires laborers or has staff to help her decorate?

"No, not redecorating," she says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that she's laughing at me.

_Am I that funny? Funny looking?_

"This way," I murmur embarrassed. "Masking tape is in the decorating aisle."  
I glance behind me as he follows.  
"Have you worked here long?" Her voice is low, and she's gazing at me, brown eyes concentrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does she have this effect on me? I feel like I'm fourteen years old – gauche, as always, and out of place. _Eyes front Steele!_

"Four years," I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock.

"I'll take that one," Mills says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to her. Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I've touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium.

"Anything else?" My voice is husky and breathy. Her eyes widen slightly.  
"Some rope, I think." Her voice mirrors mine, husky.  
"This way." I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle. "What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope... twine...cable cord... " I halt at her expression, her eyes darkening. Holy cow.

"I'll take five yards of the natural filament rope please."  
Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot brown gaze is on me. I dare not look at her. Jeez, could I feel any more selfconscious? Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife.

"Were you a Girl Scout?" she asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. _Don't look at her mouth!_

"Organized, group activities aren't really my thing, Mrs. Mills."  
She arches a brow.

"What is your thing, Emma?" she asks, her voice soft and her secret smile is back. I gaze at her unable to express myself. I'm on shifting tectonic plates. _Try and be cool, Emma, _my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee.

"Books," I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: _You! You are my thing! _I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station.

"What kind of books?" She cocks his head to one side. _Why is she so interested?  
_"Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly."  
She rubs her chin with her long index finger and thumb as she contemplates my answer.

Or perhaps she's just very bored and trying to hide it.  
"Anything else you need?" I have to get off this subject – those fingers on that face are so beguiling.

"I don't know. What else would you recommend?"  
What would I recommend? I don't even know what you're doing.  
"For a do-it-yourselfer?"  
She nods, brown eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to her snug jeans.

"Coveralls," I reply, and I know I'm no longer screening what's coming out of my mouth.

She raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again.  
"You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing," I gesture vaguely in the direction of her jeans.

"I could always take them off." She smirks.


	3. Chapter 3: Coffee Date

**Hello lovelies, **

**Sorry I took a bit longer to update this chapter. I went camping and had no reception. **

**After giving it some thought, I have decided that I will updating twice a week. Please leave reviews or comments :)**

**-XOXO Gab95Lin**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

"Um." I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. _Stop talking. Stop talking NOW._

"I'll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing," she says dryly. I try and dismiss the unwelcome image of her without jeans.  
"Do you need anything else?" I squeak as I hand her the blue coveralls.  
She ignores my inquiry.

"How's the article coming along?"

She's finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk... a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty.

"I'm not writing it, Ruby is. Miss DeLucas. My roommate, she's the writer. She's very happy with it. She's the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn't do the interview in person." I feel like I've come up for air – at last, a normal topic of conversation. "Her only concern is that she doesn't have any original photographs of you."

Mills raises an eyebrow.  
"What sort of photographs does she want?"  
Okay. I hadn't factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don't know. "Well, I'm around. Tomorrow, perhaps... " she trails off.  
"You'd be willing to attend a photo shoot?" My voice is squeaky again. Ruby will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. _And you might see her again tomorrow, _that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought – of all the silly, ridiculous...

"Ruby will be delighted – if we can find a photographer." I'm so pleased, I smile at her broadly. Her lips part, like she's taking a sharp intake of breath, and she blinks. For a fraction of a second, she looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position.

_Oh my. Regina Mills__'__s lost look._

"Let me know about tomorrow." Reaching into her bag, she pulls out small white card. "My card. It has my cell number on it. You'll need to call before ten in the morning."

"Okay." I grin up at her. Ruby is going to be thrilled.  
"EMMA!"  
Leroy has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He's Mr. Clayton's youngest brother. I'd heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn't expecting to see him today.

"Er, excuse me for a moment, Mrs. Mills." Mills frowns as I turn away from her.  
Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I'm having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Mills, it's great to talk to someone who's normal. Paul hugs me hard taking me by surprise.

"Emma, hi, it's so good to see you!" he gushes

"Hello Leroy, how are you? You home for your brother's birthday?"

"Yep. You're looking well, Emma, really well." He grins as he examines me at arm's length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It's good to see Paul, but he's always been over-familiar.

When I glance up at Regina Mills, she's watching us like a hawk, her brown eyes hooded and speculative, her mouth a hard impassive line. She's changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else – someone cold and distant.

"Leroy, I'm with a customer. Someone you should meet," I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Mills's eyes. I drag Leroy over to meet her, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic.

"Er, Leroy, this is Regina Mills. Mrs. Mills, this is Leroy Clayton. His brother owns the place." And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more.

"I've known Leroy ever since I've worked here, though we don't see each other that often. He's back from Princeton where he's studying business administration." I'm bab- bling... _Stop, now!_

"Mr. Clayton." Regina holds her hand out, her look unreadable.

"Mrs. Mills," Leroy returns her handshake. "Wait up – not _the Regina Mills_? Of Mills Enterprises Holdings?" Leroy goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Mills gives him a polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Wow – is there anything I can get you?"

"Emma has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She's been very attentive." Her expression is impassive, but her words... it's like she's saying something else entirely. It's baffling.

"Cool," Leroy responds. "Catch you later, Emma."

"Sure, Leroy." I watch him disappear toward the stock room. "Anything else, Mrs. Mills?"

"Just these items." Her tone is clipped and cool. Damn... have I offended her? Taking a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. _What is her problem?_

I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till.

"That will be forty-three dollars, please." I glance up at Mills, and I wish I hadn't. She's watching me closely, her brown eyes intense and smoky. It's unnerving.

"Would you like a bag?" I ask as I take her credit card.

"Please, Emma." Her tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic. I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place her purchases in a plastic carrier.

"You'll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?" She's all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card.

"Good. Until tomorrow perhaps." She turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh – and Emma, I'm glad Miss DeLucas couldn't do the interview." She smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over her shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he's just left before I return to planet Earth.

_Okay – I like her. _There, I've admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I've never felt like this before. I find her attractive, very attractive. But it's a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, her coming here. But still, I can admire her from afar, surely? No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Ruby and organize a photo-shoot.

Ruby is ecstatic.  
"But what was she doing at Clayton's?" Her curiosity oozes through the phone. I'm in the depths of the stock room, trying to keep my voice casual.

"She was in the area."  
"I think that is one huge coincidence, Emms. You don't think she was there to see you?" she speculates. My heart lurches at the prospect, but it's a short-lived joy. The dull, disappointing reality is that she was here on business.

"She was visiting the farming division of WSU. She's funding some research," I mutter. "Oh yes. She's given the department a $2.5 million grant."  
_Wow.  
_"How do you know this?"

"Emma, I'm a journalist, and I've written a profile on the girl. It's my job to know this." "Okay, Carla Bernstein, keep your hair on. So do you want these photos?"  
"Of course I do. The question is, who's going to do them and where."  
"We could ask her where. She says she's staying in the area."

"You can contact her?"  
"I have her cell phone number." Ruby gasps.

"The richest, most elusive, most enigmatic bachelor in Washington State, just gave you her cell phone number."

"Er... yes."  
"Emma! She likes you. No doubt about it." Her tone is emphatic.  
"Ruby, she's just trying to be nice." But even as I say the words, I know they're not true - Regina Mills doesn't do _nice. Sh_e does polite, maybe. And a small quiet voice whispers, _perhaps Ruby is right. _My scalp prickles at the idea that maybe, just maybe, she might like me. After all, she did say she was glad Ruby didn't do the interview. I hug myself with quiet glee, rocking from side to side, entertaining the possibility that she might like me for one brief moment. Ruby brings me back to the now.

"I don't know who we'll get to do the shoot. Levi, our regular photographer, can't. He's home in Idaho Falls for the weekend. He'll be pissed that he blew an opportunity to photo one of America's leading entrepreneurs."

"Hmm... What about José?"

"Great idea! You ask him – he'll do anything for you. Then call Mills and find out where she wants us." Ruby is irritatingly cavalier about José.

"I think you should call her."  
"Who, José?" Ruby scoffs.  
"No, Mills."  
"Emma, you're the one with the relationship."  
"Relationship?" I squeak at her, my voice rising several octaves. "I barely know the girl."

"At least you've met her," she says bitterly. "And it looks like she wants to know you better. Emma, just call her," she snaps and hangs up. She is so bossy sometimes. I frown at my cell, sticking my tongue out at it.

I'm just leaving a message for José when Leroy enters the stock room looking for sand- paper.

"We're kind of busy out there, Emma," he says without acrimony.  
"Yeah, um, sorry," I mutter, turning to leave.  
"So, how come you know Regina Mills?" Leroy's voice is unconvincingly nonchalant. "I had to interview her for our student newspaper. Ruby wasn't well." I shrug, trying to sound casual and doing no better than him.

"Regina Mills in Clayton's. Go figure," Leroy snorts, amazed. He shakes his head as if to clear it. "Anyway, want to grab a drink or something this evening?" Whenever he's home he asks me on a date, and I always say no. It's a ritual. I've never considered it a good idea to date the boss's brother, and besides, Leroy is cute in a whole- some all-American boy-next-door kind of way, but he's no literary hero, not by any stretch of the imagination. _Is Mills? _My subconscious asks me, her eyebrow figuratively raised.

I slap her down.  
"Don't you have a family dinner or something for your brother?"  
"That's tomorrow."  
"Maybe some other time, Leroy. I need to study tonight. I have my finals next week." "Emma, one of these days, you'll say yes," he smiles as I escape out to the store floor.

"But I do places, Emma, not people," José groans.  
"José, please?" I beg. Clutching my cell, I pace the living area of our apartment, staring out of the window at the fading evening light.

"Give me that phone." Ruby grabs the handset from me, tossing her silken brown-blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Listen here, José Rodriquez, if you want our newspaper to cover the opening of your show, you'll do this shoot for us tomorrow, caliche " Ruby can be awesomely tough. "Good. Emma will call back with the location and the call time. We'll see you tomorrow." She snaps my cell phone shut.

"Sorted. All we need to do now is decide where and when. Call her." She holds the phone out to me. My stomach twists.

"Call Mills, now!"  
I scowl at her and reach into my back pocket for her business card. I take a deep, steadying breath, and with shaking fingers, I dial the number.

She answers on the second ring. Her tone is clipped, calm and cold.  
"Mills."  
"Err... Mrs. Mills? It's Emma Swan." I don't recognize my own voice, I'm so nervous. There's a brief pause. Inside I'm quaking.

"Miss Swan. How nice to hear from you." Her voice has changed. She's surprised, I think, and she sounds so… warm – _seductive _even. My breath hitches, and I flush. I'm suddenly conscious that Ruby DeLucas is staring at me, her mouth open, and I dart into the kitchen to avoid her unwanted scrutiny.

"Err – we'd like to go ahead with the photo-shoot for the article." _Breathe, Emma, breathe. _My lungs drag in a hasty breath. "Tomorrow, if that's okay. Where would be convenient for you, ma'm?"

I can almost hear her sphinx-like smile through the phone.

"I'm staying at the Heathman in Portland. Shall we say, nine thirty tomorrow morning?"

"Okay, we'll see you there." I am all gushing and breathy – like a child, not a grown woman who can vote and drink legally in the State of Washington.

"I look forward to it, Miss Swan." I visualize the wicked gleam in her brown eyes. _How can she make seven little words hold so much tantalizing promise? _I hang up. Ruby is in the kitchen, and she's staring at me with a look of complete and utter consternation on her face.

"Emma Swan. You like her! I've never seen or heard you so, so... affected by anyone before. You're actually blushing."

"Oh Ruby, you know I blush all the time. It's an occupational hazard with me. Don't be so ridiculous," I snap. She blinks at me with surprise – I very rarely throw my toys out of the pram – and I briefly relent. "I just find her... intimidating, that's all."

"Heathwoman, that figures," mutters Ruby. "I'll give the manager a call and negotiate a space for the shoot."

"I'll make supper. Then I need to study." I cannot hide my irritation with her as I open one of cupboards to make supper.

I am restless that night, tossing and turning. Dreaming of smoky brown eyes, coveralls, long legs, long fingers, and dark, dark unexplored places. I wake twice in the night, my heart pounding. _Oh, I'm going to look just great tomorrow with so little sleep, _I scold myself. I punch my pillow and try to settle.

The Heathwoman is nestled in the downtown heart of Portland. Its impressive brown stone edifice was completed just in time for the crash of the late 1920s. José, Travis, and I are traveling in my Beetle, and Ruby is in her CLK, since we can't all fit in my car. Travis is José's friend and gopher, here to help out with the lighting. Ruby has managed to acquire the use of a room at the Heathwoman free of charge for the morning in exchange for a credit in the article. When she explains at reception that we're here to photograph Reina Mills CEO, we are instantly upgraded to a suite. Just a regular-sized suite, however, as apparently Mrs. Mills is already occupying the largest one in the building. An over-keen marketing executive shows us up to the suite – he's terribly young and very nervous for some reason. I suspect it's Ruby's beauty and commanding manner that disarms him, because he's putty in her hands. The rooms are elegant, understated, and opulently furnished.

It's nine. We have half an hour to set up. Ruby is in full flow.

"José, I think we'll shoot against that wall, do you agree?" She doesn't wait for his reply. "Travis, clear the chairs. Emma, could you ask housekeeping to bring up some refreshments? And let Mills know where we are."

_Yes, Mistress. _She is so domineering. I roll my eyes, but do as I'm told.  
Half an hour later, Regina Mills walks into our suite.  
_Holy Crap! Sh_e's wearing a white shirt, open at the collar, and grey pencil skirt. Her obedient hair is still stylish from the blow-drier. My mouth goes dry looking at her… she's so freaking _hot. _Mill is followed into the suite by a man in his mid-thirties, all buzz-cut and stubble in a sharp dark suit and tie who stands silently in the corner. His hazel eyes watch us impassively.

"Miss Swan, we meet again." Mills extends her hand, and I shake it, blinking rapidly. Oh my... she really is, quite... wow. As I touch her hand, I'm aware of that delicious current running right through me, lighting me up, making me blush, and I'm sure my erratic breathing must be audible.

"Mrs. Mills, this is Ruby DeLucas," I mutter, waving a hand toward Ruby who comes forward, looking her squarely in the eye.

"The tenacious Miss DeLucas. How do you do?" She gives her a small smile, looking genuinely amused. "I trust you're feeling better? Emma said you were unwell last week."

"I'm fine, thank you, Mrs. Mills." She shakes her hand firmly without batting an eyelid. I remind myself that Ruby has been to the best private schools in Washington. Her family has money, and she's grown up confident and sure of her place in the world. She doesn't take any crap. I am in awe of her.

"Thank you for taking the time to do this." She gives her a polite, professional smile. "It's a pleasure," she answers, turning her brown gaze on me, and I flush, again. Damn it.

"This is José Rodriguez, our photographer," I say, grinning at José who smiles with affection back at me. His eyes cool when he looks from me to Mills.

"Mrs. Mills," he nods.  
"Mr. Rodriguez," Mills's expression changes too as she appraises José.  
"Where would you like me?" Mills asks him. Her tone sounds vaguely threatening. But Ruby is not about to let José run the show.

"Mrs. Mills – if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting cables. And then we'll do a few standing, too." She directs him to a chair set up against the wall. Travis switches on the lights, momentarily blinding Mills, and mutters an apology. Then Travis and I stand back and watch as José proceeds to snap away. He takes several photographs hand-held, asking Mills to turn this way, then that, to move her arm, then put it down again. Moving to the tripod, José takes several more, while Mills sits and poses, patiently and naturally, for about twenty minutes. My wish has come true: I can stand and admire Mills from not-so-afar. Twice our eyes lock, and I have to tear myself away from her cloudy gaze.

"Enough sitting." Ruby wades in again. "Standing, Mrs. Mills?" she asks.  
She stands, and Travis scurries in to remove the chair. The shutter on José's Nikon starts clicking again. "I think we have enough," José announces five minutes later.

"Great," says Ruby. "Thank you again, Mrs. Mills." She shakes her hand, as does José. "I look forward to reading the article, Miss DeLucas," murmurs Mills, and turns to me, standing by the door. "Will you walk with me, Miss Swan?" she asks. "Sure," I say, completely thrown. I glance anxiously at Ruby, who shrugs at me. I notice José scowling behind her. "Good day to you all," says Mills as she opens the door, standing aside to allow me out first.

_Holy hell... what's this about? What does she want? _I pause in the hotel corridor, fidgeting nervously as Mills emerges from the room followed by Mr. Buzz-Cut in his sharp suit. "I'll call you, Taylor," he murmurs to Buzz-Cut. Taylor wanders back down the corridor, and Mills turns her burning brown gaze to me. _Crap... have I done something wrong?_

"I wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning."

My heart slams into my mouth. A date? Regina Mills _is asking me on a date. _She's asking if you want a coffee. _Maybe she thinks you haven't woken up yet, _my subconscious whines at me in a sneering mood again. I clear my throat trying to control my nerves.

"I have to drive everyone home," I murmur apologetically, twisting my hands and fingers in front of me.

"TAYLOR," she calls, making me jump. Taylor, who had been retreating down the corridor, turns and heads back toward us.

"Are they based at the university?" Mills asks, her voice soft and inquiring. I nod, too stunned to speak.

"Taylor can take them. He's my driver. We have a large 4x4 here, so he'll be able to take the equipment too."

"Mrs. Mills?" Taylor asks when he reaches us, giving nothing away.  
"Please, can you drive the photographer, his assistant, and Miss DeLucas back home?"

"Certainly, sir," Taylor replies.  
"There. Now can you join me for coffee?" Mills smiles as if it's a done deal.  
I frown at her.  
"Um – Mrs. Mills, err – this really… look, Taylor doesn't have to drive them home." I flash a brief look at Taylor, who remains stoically impassive. "I'll swap vehicles with Ruby, if you give me a moment."

Mills smiles a dazzling, unguarded, natural, all-teeth-showing, glorious smile. _Oh my_... and she opens the door of the suite so I can re-enter. I scoot around her to enter the room, finding DeLucas in deep discussion with José.

"Emma, I think she definitely likes you," she says with no preamble whatsoever. José glares at me with disapproval. "But I don't trust her," she adds. I raise my hand up in the hope that she'll stop talking. By some miracle, she does.

"Ruby, if you take the Beetle, can I take your car?"  
"Why?"  
"Regina Mills has asked me to go for coffee with her."  
Her mouth pops open. Speechless Ruby! I savor the moment. She grabs me by my arm and drags me into the bedroom that's off the living area of the suite. "Emma, there's something about her." Her tone is full of warning. "She's gorgeous, I agree, but I think she's dangerous. Especially to someone like you."

"What do you mean, someone like me?" I demand, affronted.  
"An innocent like you, Emma. You know what I mean," she says a little irritated. I flush. "Ruby, it's just coffee. I'm starting my exams this week, and I need to study, so I won't be long." She purses her lips as if considering my request. Finally, she fishes her car keys out of her pocket and hands them to me. I hand her mine.

"I'll see you later. Don't be long, or I'll send out search and rescue."  
"Thanks." I hug her.  
I emerge from the suite to find Regina Mills waiting, leaning up against the wall, looking like a female model in a pose for some glossy high-end magazine.

"Okay, let's do coffee," I murmur, flushing a beet red.  
She grins.  
"After you, Miss Swan." She stands up straight, holding her hand out for me to go first.

I make my way down the corridor, my knees shaky, my stomach full of butterflies, and my heart in my mouth thumping a dramatic uneven beat. _I am going to have coffee with Regina Mills__… __and I hate coffee._

We walk together down the wide hotel corridor to the elevators. _What should I say to her? _My mind is suddenly paralyzed with apprehension. What are we going to talk about? What on Earth do I have in common with her? His soft, warm voice startles me from my reverie.

"How long have you known DeLucas?"  
Oh, an easy questions for starters.  
"Since our freshman year. She's a good friend." "Hmm," she replies, non-committal. What is she thinking?

At the elevators, she presses the call button, and the bell rings almost immediately. The doors slide open revealing a young couple in a passionate clinch inside. Surprised and embarrassed, they jump apart, staring guiltily in every direction but ours. Mills and I step into the elevator.

I am struggling to maintain a straight face, so I gaze down at the floor, feeling my cheeks turning pink. When I peek up at Mills through my lashes, she has a hint of a smile on her lips, but it's very hard to tell. The young couple says nothing, and we travel down to the first floor in embarrassed silence. We don't even have trashy piped music to distract us.

The doors open and, much to my surprise, Mills takes my hand, clasping it with her cool fingers. I feel the current run through me, and my already rapid heartbeat accelerates. As she leads me out of the elevator, we can hear the suppressed giggles of the couple erupting behind us. Mills grins.

"What is it about elevators?" she mutters.

We cross the expansive, bustling lobby of the hotel toward the entrance but Mills avoids the revolving door, and I wonder if that's because she'd have to let go of my hand.

Outside, it's a mild May Sunday. The sun is shining and the traffic is light. Mills turns left and strolls to the corner, where we stop waiting for the lights of the pedestrian crossing to change. She's still holding my hand. _I'm in the street, and Regina Mills is holding my hand. _No one has ever held my hand. I feel giddy, and I tingle all over. I attempt to smother the ridiculous grin that threatens to split my face in two. _Try to be cool, Emma, _my subconscious implores me. The green man appears, and we're off again.

We walk four blocks before we reach the Portland Coffee House, where Mills releases me to hold the door open so I can step inside.

"Why don't you choose a table, while I get the drinks. What would you like?" she asks, polite as ever.

"I'll have... um – English Breakfast tea, bag out." She raises her eyebrows.  
"No coffee?"  
"I'm not keen on coffee."

She smiles.  
"Okay, bag out tea. Sugar?"  
For a moment, I'm stunned, thinking it's an endearment, but fortunately my subconscious kicks in with pursed lips. _No, stupid – do you take sugar?_

"No thanks." I stare down at my knotted fingers.  
"Anything to eat?"  
"No thank you." I shake my head, and she heads to the counter.  
I surreptitiously gaze at her from beneath my lashes as she stands in line waiting to be served. I could watch her all day… she's short, petite and slim, and the way that pencil skirt marks her legs… _Oh my. _Once or twice she runs her graceful fingers through her now more cooler but still stylish hair. _Hmm... I'd like to do that. _The thought comes unbidden into my mind, and my face flames. I bite my lip and stare down at my hands again not liking where my wayward thoughts are headed.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Mills is back, startling me.

I go crimson. _I was just thinking about running my fingers through your hair and wondering if it would feel soft to touch. _I shake my head. She's carrying a tray, which she sets down on the small, round, birch-veneer table. She hands me a cup and saucer, a small teapot, and a side plate bearing a lone teabag labeled 'Twinings English Breakfast' – my favorite. She has a coffee which bears a wonderful leaf-pattern imprinted in the milk. _How do they do that? _I wonder idly. She's also bought herself a blueberry muffin. Putting the tray aside, she sits opposite me and crosses her wonderful legs. She looks so comfortable, so at ease with her body, I envy her. Here's me, all gawky and uncoordinated, barely able to get from A to B without falling flat on my face.

"Your thoughts?" she prompts me.

"This is my favorite tea." My voice is quiet, breathy. I simply can't believe I'm sitting opposite Regina Mills in a coffee shop in Portland. She frowns. She knows I'm hiding something. I pop the teabag into the teapot and almost immediately fish it out again with my teaspoon. As I place the used teabag back on the side plate, she cocks her head gazing quizzically at me.

"I like my tea black and weak," I mutter as an explanation. "I see. Is he your boyfriend?"  
_Whoa... What?  
_"Who?"

"The photographer. José Rodriguez."  
I laugh, nervous but curious. What gave her that impression?  
"No. José's a good friend of mine, that's all. Why did you think he was my boyfriend?" "The way you smiled at him, and he at you." Her brown gaze holds mine. She's so unnerving. I want to look away but I'm caught – spellbound.

"He's more like family," I whisper.  
Mills nods slightly, seemingly satisfied with my response, and glances down at her blueberry muffin. Her delicate fingers deftly peel back the paper, and I watch, fascinated. "Do you want some?" she asks, and that amused, secret smile is back.

"No thanks." I frown and stare down at my hands again.  
"And the boy I met yesterday, at the store. He's not your boyfriend?"

"No. Leroy's just a friend. I told you yesterday." Oh, this is getting silly. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem nervous around men."  
Holy crap, that's personal. _I'm just nervous around you, Mills.  
_"I find you intimidating." I flush scarlet, but mentally pat myself on the back for my candor, and gaze at my hands again. I hear her sharp intake of breath.

"You should find me intimidating," she nods. "You're very honest. Please don't look down. I like to see your face." Oh. I glance at her, and she gives me an encouraging but wry smile."It gives me some sort of clue what you might be thinking," she breathes. "You're a mystery, Miss Swan.

Mysterious? Me?  
"There's nothing mysterious about me."  
"I think you're very self-contained," she murmurs.

Am I? _Wow... how am I managing that? _This is bewildering. _Me, self-contained? No Way._

"Except when you blush, of course, which is often. I just wish I knew what you were blushing about." She pops a small piece of muffin into her mouth and starts to chew it slowly, not taking her eyes off me. And as if on cue, I blush. _Crap!_

"Do you always make such personal observations?"  
"I hadn't realized I was. Have I offended you?" She sounds surprised.  
"No," I answer truthfully.  
"Good."  
"But you're very high-handed," I retaliate quietly.  
She raises her eyebrows and, if I'm not mistaken, she flushes slightly too.  
"I'm used to getting my own way, Emma," she murmurs. "In all things."  
"I don't doubt it. Why haven't you asked me to call you by your first name?" I'm surprised by my audacity. Why has this conversation become so serious? This isn't going the way I thought it was going to go. I can't believe I'm feeling so antagonistic towards her. It's like she's trying to warn me off.

"The only people who use my given name are my family and a few close friends. That's the way I like it."

Oh. She still hasn't said, 'Call me Regina.' She _is _a control freak, there's no other explanation, and part of me is thinking maybe it would have been better if Ruby had interviewed her. Two control freaks together. Plus of course she's almost blonde – well, a blonde- brunette – like all the women in his office. _And she's beautiful, _my subconscious reminds me. I don't like the idea of Regina and Ruby. I take a sip of my tea, and Mills eats another small piece of her muffin.

"Are you an only child?" she asks. _Whoa_... she keeps changing direction. "Yes."  
"Tell me about your parents."

Why does she want to know this? It's so _dull._

"My mom lives in Georgia with her new husband James. My stepdad lives in Monte- sano."

"Your father?"  
"My father died when I was a baby."  
"I'm sorry," she mutters and a fleeting troubled look crosses her face.  
"I don't remember him."  
"And your mother remarried?"  
I snort.  
"You could say that."  
She frowns at me.  
"You're not giving much away, are you?" she says dryly, rubbing her chin as if in deep thought.

"Neither are you."  
"You've interviewed me once already, and I can recollect some quite probing questions then." She smirks at me.

_Holy shit. _She's remembering the 'bisexual' question.


	4. Chapter 4: Not For You

**Hi lovelies, **

**So I know I said I will be publishing twice per week, but this week I have decided to publish some extra, so be aware for the updates all throughout the week. Also thank you for the reviews, they are being taken in mind. BellaMills your comment has being taken in mind, and don't worry I am planning on changing the story, but don't forget the story is following the book story line. However Regina does only have a sister so I have made the arrangement. Thank you for your comment. Also the next two chapters would be just as short or less than this one. **

**So please keep leaving reviews or comments. They are taken in mind :) **

**-XOXO Gab95Lin**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

Once again, I'm mortified. In years to come, I know, I'll need intensive therapy to not feel this embarrassed every time I recall the moment. I start babbling about my mother – anything to block _that _memory.

"My mom is wonderful. She's an incurable romantic. She's currently on her second husband."

Regina raises her eyebrows in surprise.

"I miss her," I continue. "She has James now. I just hope he can keep an eye on her and pick up the pieces when her harebrained schemes don't go as planned." I smile fondly. I haven't seen my mom for so long. Regina is watching me intently, taking occasional sips of her coffee. I really shouldn't look at her mouth. It's unsettling. Those lips with that red lipstick.

"Do you get along with your stepfather?"  
"Of course. I grew up with him. He's the only father I know."  
"And what's he like?"  
"David? He's... taciturn."  
"That's it?" Mills asks, surprised.  
I shrug. What does this woman expect? My life story?  
"Taciturn like his stepdaughter," Mills prompts.  
I refrain from rolling my eyes at her.  
"He likes soccer – American soccer especially – and bowling, and fly-fishing, and making furniture. He's a sheriff. Ex-army." I sigh.

"You lived with him?"  
"Yes. My mom met Husband Number Two when I was fifteen. I stayed with David." She frowns as if she doesn't understand.  
"You didn't want to live with your mom?" she asks.  
I blush. _This really is none of her business.  
_"Husband Number Two lived in Texas. My home was in Montesano. And… you know my mom was newly married." I stop. My mom never talks about Husband Number Two. Where is Mills going with this? This _is _none of her business. _Two can play at this game._

"Tell me about your parents," I ask.  
She shrugs.  
"My dad's a politician, my mom is his manager. They live in Seattle."  
Oh... she's had an affluent upbringing. And I wonder about a successful couple who adopt two kids, and one of them turns into a beautiful woman who takes on the business world and conquers it single-handed. What drove her to be that way? Her folks must be proud.

"What do your sister do?"

"Zelena' is in Paris, studying cookery under some renowned French chef." Her eyes cloud with irritation. She doesn't want to talk about her family or herself.

"I hear Paris is lovely," I murmur. Why doesn't she want to talk about her family? Is it because she's adopted?

"It's beautiful. Have you been?" she asks, her irritation forgotten.  
"I've never left mainland USA." So now we're back to banalities. What is she hiding?

"Would you like to go?"

"To Paris?" I squeak. This has thrown me – who wouldn't want to go to Paris? "Of course," I concede. "But it's England that I'd really like to visit."

She cocks her head to one side, running her index finger across her lower lip... _oh my._"Because?"  
I blink rapidly. _Concentrate, Swan.  
_"It's the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Brontë sisters, Thomas Hardy. I'd like to see the places that inspired those people to write such wonderful books."

All this talk of literary greats reminds me that I should be studying. I glance at my watch.

"I'd better go. I have to study."  
"For your exams?"  
"Yes. They start Tuesday."  
"Where's Miss DeLucas's car?"  
"In the hotel parking lot."  
"I'll walk you back."  
"Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Mills."  
She smiles her odd _I've got a whopping big secret _smile.  
"You're welcome, Emma. It's my pleasure. Come," she commands, and holds her hand out to me. I take it, bemused, and follow him out of the coffee shop.

We stroll back to the hotel, and I'd like to say it's in companionable silence. She at least looks her usual calm, collected self. As for me, I'm desperately trying to gauge how our little coffee morning has gone. I feel like I've been interviewed for a position, but I'm not sure what it is.

"Do you always wear jeans?" she asks out of the blue.  
"Mostly."  
She nods. We're back at the intersection, across the road from the hotel. My mind is reeling. _What an odd question... _And I'm aware that our time together is limited. This is it. This was it, and I've completely blown it, I know. Perhaps she has someone.

"Do you have a significant other?" I blurt out. Holy crap - _I just said that out loud?  
_Her lips quirk up in a half-smile, and she looks down at me.  
"No, Emma. I don't do the significant other thing," she says softly.  
Oh… _what does that mean? _She's not into dating? Oh, maybe she is bisexual- crap! She must have lied to me in her interview. And for a moment, I think she's going to follow on with some explanation, some clue to this cryptic statement – but she doesn't. I have to go. I have to try to reassemble my thoughts. I have to get away from her. I walk forward, and I trip, stumbling headlong onto the road.

"Shit, Emma!" Mills cries. She tugs the hand that she's holding so hard that I fall back against her just as a cyclist whips past, narrowly missing me, heading the wrong way up this one-way street.

It all happens so fast – one minute I'm falling, the next I'm in her arms, and she's holding me tightly against her chest. I inhale her clean, vital scent. She smells of fresh laundered linen and some expensive perfume that somehow smells like apples and cinnamon. _Oh my,_it's intoxicating. I inhale deeply.

"Are you okay?" she whispers. She has one arm around me, clasping me to her, while the fingers of her other hand softly trace my face, gently probing, examining me. Her thumb brushes my lower lip, and I hear her breath hitch. She's staring into my eyes, and I hold his anxious, burning gaze for a moment or maybe it's forever... but eventually, my attention is drawn to her beautiful mouth. _Oh my. _And for the first time in twenty-one years, I want to be kissed. I want to feel her mouth on me.

_Kiss me damn it! _I implore her, but I can't move. I'm paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by her. I'm staring at Regina Mills's exquisitely sculptured red mouth, mesmerized, and she's looking down at me, her gaze hooded, her eyes darkening. She's breathing harder than usual, and I've stopped breathing altogether. _I'm in your arms. Kiss me, please. _She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and gives me a small shake of her head as if in answer to my silent question. When she opens her eyes again, it's with some new purpose, a steely resolve.

"Emma, you should steer clear of me. I'm not the woman for you," she whispers. _What? Where is this coming from? _Surely I should be the judge of that. I frown up at her, and my head swims with rejection.

"Breathe, Emma, breathe. I'm going to stand you up and let you go," she says quietly, and she gently pushes me away.

Adrenaline has spiked through my body, from the near miss with the cyclist or the heady proximity to Regina, leaving me wired and weak. _NO! _My psyche screams as she pulls away, leaving me bereft. She has her hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm's length, watching my reactions carefully. And the only thing I can think is that I wanted to be kissed, made it pretty damned obvious, and she didn't do it. _She doesn't want me. _She really doesn't want me. I have royally screwed up the coffee morning.

"I've got this," I breathe, finding my voice. "Thank you," I mutter awash with humili- ation. How could I have misread the situation between us so utterly? I need to get away from her.

"For what?" she frowns. She hasn't taken her hands off me.  
"For saving me," I whisper.  
"That idiot was riding the wrong way. I'm glad I was here. I shudder to think what could have happened to you. Do you want to come and sit down in the hotel for a moment?" She releases me, her hands by her hips side, and I'm standing in front of her feeling like a fool.

With a shake, I clear my head. I just want to go. All my vague, unarticulated hopes have been dashed. She doesn't want me. _What was I thinking? _I scold myself. _What would Regina Mills want with you? _My subconscious mocks me. I wrap my arms around myself and turn to face the road and note with relief that the green man has appeared. I quickly make my way across, conscious that Mills is behind me. Outside the hotel, I turn briefly to face her but cannot look her in the eye.

"Thanks for the tea and doing the photo shoot," I murmur.

"Emma… I... " She stops, and the anguish in her voice demands my attention, so I peer unwillingly up at her. Her chocolate eyes are bleak as she runs her hand through her hair. She looks torn, frustrated, her expression stark, all her careful control has evaporated.

"What, Regina?" I snap irritably after she says – nothing. I just want to go. I need to take my fragile, wounded pride away and somehow nurse it back to health.

"Good luck with your exams," she murmurs.

_Huh? _This is why she looks so desolate? This is the big send off? Just to wish me luck in my exams?

"Thanks." I can't disguise the sarcasm in my voice. "Goodbye, Mrs. Mills." I turn on my heel, vaguely amazed that I don't trip, and without giving her a second glance, I disappear down the sidewalk toward the underground garage.

Once underneath the dark, cold concrete of the garage with its bleak fluorescent light, I lean against the wall and put my head in my hands. What was I thinking? Unbidden and unwelcome tears pool in my eyes. _Why am I crying? _I sink to the ground, angry at myself for this senseless reaction. Drawing up my knees, I fold in on myself. I want to make myself as small as possible. Perhaps this nonsensical pain will be smaller the smaller I am. Placing my head on my knees, I let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. I am crying over the loss of something I never had. _How ridiculous. _Mourning something that never was my dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and my soured expectations.

I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay... so I was always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but I understood that – running and doing something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not my thing. I am a serious liability in any sporting field.

Romantically, though, I've never put myself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity – I'm too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, uncoordinated, my long list of faults goes on. So I have always been the one to rebuff any would be admirers. There was that guy in my chemistry class who liked me, but no one has ever sparked my interest – no one except Regina fucken Mills. Maybe I should be kinder to the likes of Leroy Clayton and José Rodriguez, though I'm sure neither of them have been found sobbing alone in dark places. Perhaps I just need a good cry.

_Stop! Stop Now! - _My subconscious is metaphorically screaming at me, arms folded, leaning on one leg and tapping her foot in frustration. _Get in the car, go home, do your studying. Forget about her... Now! _And stop all this self-pitying, wallowing crap.

I take a deep, steadying breath and stand up. _Get it together Swan. _I head for Ruby's car, wiping the tears off my face as I do. I will not think of her again. I can just chalk this incident up to experience and concentrate on my exams.

Ruby is sitting at the dining table at her laptop when I arrive. Her welcoming smile fades when she sees me.

"Emma what's wrong?"

Oh no… not the Ruby DeLucas Inquisition. I shake my head at her in a _back-off now DeLucas way _– but I might as well be dealing with a blind, deaf mute.

"You've been crying," she has an exceptional gift for stating the damned obvious sometimes. "What did that bastard do to you?" she growls, and her face – jeez, she's scary. "Nothing Ruby." That's actually the problem. The thought brings a wry smile to my face.

"Then why have you been crying? You never cry," she says, her voice softening. She stands, her green eyes brimming with concern. She puts her arms around me and hugs me. I need to say something just to get her to back off.

"I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist." It's the best that I can do, but it distracts her momentarily from... her.

"Jeez Emma – are you okay? Were you hurt?" She holds me at arm's length and does a quick visual check-up on me.

"No. Regina saved me," I whisper. "But I was quite shaken."  
"I'm not surprised. How was coffee? I know you hate coffee."  
"I had tea. It was fine, nothing to report really. I don't know why she asked me."  
"She likes you Emma." She drops her arms.  
"Not anymore. I won't be seeing her again." Yes, I manage to sound matter of fact. "Oh?"  
Crap. She's intrigued. I head into the kitchen so that she can't see my face.  
"Yeah... she's a little out of my league Ruby," I say as dryly as I can manage.  
"What do you mean?"  
"Oh Ruby, it's obvious." I whirl round and face her as she stands in the kitchen doorway.

"Not to me," she says. "Okay, she's got more money than you, but then she has more money than most people in America!"

"Ruby she's– " I shrug.  
"Emma! For heaven's sake – how many times must I tell you? You're a total babe," she interrupts me. Oh no. She's off on this tirade again.

"Ruby, please. I need to study." I cut her short. She frowns.  
"Do you want to see the article? It's finished. José took some great pictures."

Do I need a visual reminder of the gorgeous Regina _I-don't-want-you _Mills?

"Sure," I magic a smile on to my face and stroll over to the laptop. And there she is, staring at me in black and white, staring at me and finding me lacking.

I pretend to read the article, all the time meeting her steady dark gaze, searching the photo for some clue as to why she's not the woman for me – her own words to me. And it's suddenly, blindingly obvious. She's too gloriously good-looking. We are poles apart and from two very different worlds. I have a vision of myself as Icarus flying too close to the sun and crashing and burning as a result. Her words make sense. She's not the woman for me. This is what she meant, and it makes her rejection easier to accept... almost. I can live with this. I understand.

"Very good Ruby," I manage. "I'm going to study." I am not going to think about her again for now, I vow to myself, and opening my revision notes, I start to read.

It's only when I'm in bed, trying to sleep, that I allow my thoughts to drift through my strange morning. I keep coming back to the '_I don't do the significant other thing' _quote, and I'm angry that I didn't pounce on this information sooner, when I was in her arms mentally begging her with every fiber of my being to kiss me. She'd said it there and then. She didn't want me as a girlfriend. I turn on to my side. Idly, I wonder if perhaps she's celibate? I close my eyes and begin to drift. Maybe she's saving herself. _Well not for you,_my sleepy subconscious has a final swipe at me before unleashing itself on my dreams.

And that night, I dream of brown eyes, leafy patterns in milk, and I'm running through dark places with eerie strip lighting, and I don't know if I'm running toward something or away from it… it's just not clear.

I put my pen down. Finished. My final exam is over. I feel the Cheshire cat grin spread over my face. It's probably the first time all week that I've smiled. It's Friday, and we shall be celebrating tonight, really celebrating. I might even get drunk! I've never been drunk before. I glance across the sports hall at Kate, and she's still scribbling furiously, five minutes to the end. This is it, the end of my academic career. I shall never have to sit in rows of anxious, isolated students again. Inside I'm doing graceful cartwheels around my head, knowing full well that's the only place I can do graceful cartwheels. Kate stops writing and puts her pen down. She glances across at me, and I catch her Cheshire cat smile too.

We head back to our apartment together in her Mercedes, refusing to discuss our final paper. Kate is more concerned about what she's going to wear to the bar this evening. I am busily fishing around in my purse for my keys.

"Emma, there's a package for you." Ruby is standing on the steps up to the front door holding a brown paper parcel. _Odd. _I haven't ordered anything from Amazon recently. Ruby gives me the parcel and takes my keys to open the front door. It's addressed to Miss Emma Swan. There's no sender's address or name. Perhaps it's from my mom or David.

"It's probably from my folks."

"Open it!" Ruby is excited as she heads into the kitchen for our 'Exams are finished hurrah Champagne'.

I open the parcel, and inside I find a half leather box containing three seemingly identical old cloth-covered books in mint condition and a plain white card. Written on one side, in black ink in neat cursive handwriting, is:

I recognize the quote from _Tess. _I am stunned by the irony as I've just spent three hours writing about the novels of Thomas Hardy in my final examination. Perhaps there is no irony... perhaps it's deliberate. I inspect the books closely, three volumes of _Tess of the D'Urbervilles. _I open the front cover. Written in an old typeface on the front plate is:

'London: Jack R. Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891.'

Holy shit - they are first editions. They must be worth a fortune, and I know immediately who's sent them. Ruby is at my shoulder gazing at the books. She picks up the card.

"First Editions," I whisper.  
"No." Ruby's eyes are wide with disbelief. "Mills?"  
I nod.  
"Can't think of anyone else."  
"What does this card mean?"  
"I have no idea. I think it's a warning – honestly she keeps warning me off. I have no idea why. It's not like I'm beating her door down." I frown.

"I know you don't want to talk about her, Emma, but she's seriously into you. Warnings or no."

I have not let myself dwell on Regina Mills for the past week. Okay… so her brown chocolate eyes are still haunting my dreams, and I know it will take an eternity to expunge the feel of her arms around me and her wonderful fragrance from my brain. Why has she sent me this? She told me that I wasn't for her.

"I've found one Tess first edition for sale in New York at $14,000. But yours looks in much better condition. They must have cost more." Ruby is consulting her good friend Google.

"This quote – Tess says it to her mother after Alec D'Urberville has had his wicked way with her."

"I know," muses Ruby. "What is she trying to say?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. I can't accept these from her. I'll send them back with an equally baffling quote from some obscure part of the book."

"The bit where Angel Clare says fuck off?" Ruby asks with a completely straight face.

"Yes, that bit." I giggle. I love Ruby, she's so loyal and supportive. I repack the books and leave them on the dining table. Ruby hands me a glass of champagne.

"To the end of exams and our new life in Seattle," she grins.

"To the end of exams, our new life in Seattle, and excellent results." We clink glasses and drink.

The bar is loud and hectic, full of soon to be graduates out to get trashed. José joins us. He won't graduate for another year, but he's in the mood to party and gets us into the spirit of our newfound freedom by buying a pitcher of margaritas for us all. As I down my fifth, I know this is not a good idea on top of the champagne.

"So what now Emma?" José shouts at me over the noise.  
"Ruby and I are moving to Seattle. Ruby grandma has bought a condo there for her." "Dios mio, how the other half live. But you'll be back for my show."  
"Of course, José, I wouldn't miss it for the world." I smile, and he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close.

"It means a lot to me that you'll be there Emma," he whispers in my ear. "Another margarita?"

"José Luis Rodriguez – are you trying to get me drunk? Because I think it's working."

I giggle. "I think I'd better have a beer. I'll go get us a pitcher."  
"More drink, Emma!" Ruby bellows.

Ruby has the constitution of an ox. She's got her arm draped over Levi, one of our fellow Thomas English students and her usual photographer on her student newspaper. He's given up taking photos of the drunkenness that surrounds him. He only has eyes for Ruby. She's all tiny camisole, tight jeans, and high heels, hair piled high with tendrils hanging down softly around her face, her usual stunning self. Me, I'm more of a Converse and t-shirt kind of girl, but I'm wearing my most flattering jeans. I move out of José's hold and get up from our table. Whoa. Head spin. I have to grab the back of the chair. Tequila based cocktails are not a good idea.

I make my way to the bar and decide that I should visit the powder room while I am on my feet. Good thinking, Emma. I stagger off through the crowd. Of course, there's a line, but at least it's quiet and cool in the corridor. I reach for my cell phone to relieve the boredom of waiting in line. Hmm... Who did I last call? Was it José? Before that a number I don't recognize. Oh yes. Mills, I think this is her number. I giggle. I have no idea what the time is, maybe I'll wake her. Perhaps she can tell me why she sent me those books and the cryptic message. If she wants me to stay away, she should leave me alone. I suppress a drunken grin and hit the automatic re-dial. She answers on the second ring.

"Emma?" She's surprised to hear from me. Well, frankly, I'm surprised to ring her. Then my befuddled brain registers... how does she know it's me?

"Why did you send me the books?" I slur at her.  
"Emma, are you okay? You sound strange." Her voice is filled with concern.  
"I'm not the strange one, you are," I accuse. There - that told her, my courage fueled by alcohol.

"Emma, have you been drinking?"  
"What's it to you?"  
"I'm – curious. Where are you?"  
"In a bar."  
"Which bar?" She sounds exasperated.  
"A bar in Portland."  
"How are you getting home?"  
"I'll find a way." This conversation is not going how I expected.  
"Which bar are you in?"  
"Why did you send me the books, Regina?"  
"Emma, where are you, tell me now." Her tone is so, so dictatorial, her usual control freak. I imagine her as an old time movie director wearing jodhpurs, holding an old fashioned megaphone and a riding crop. The image makes me laugh out loud.

"You're so... domineering," I giggle.  
"Emma, so help me, where the fuck are you?"  
Regina Mills is swearing at me. I giggle again. "I'm in Portland... s'a long way from Seattle."

"Where in Portland?"  
"Goodnight, Regina."  
"Emma!"


	5. Chapter 5: After Midnight

**Hello lovelies, **

**Like I promise here is another chapter. Hope you wonderful people are enjoying the story, it is finally getting close to more action between Emma and Regina. I hope you guts are please with the arranges I'm making for the story to accommodate it into a SwanQueen story and trying to stick to Regina and Emma's life story in OUAT. Please leave any comments or reviews, they are welcome. **

**Have a wonderful week!**

**-XOXO Gab95Lin**

* * *

I hang up. Ha! Though she didn't tell me about the books. I frown. Mission not accomplished. I am really quite drunk my head swims uncomfortably as I shuffle with the line. Well, the object of the exercise was to get drunk. I have succeeded. This is what it's like – _probably not an experience to be repeated. _The line has moved, and it's now my turn. I stare blankly at the poster on the back of the toilet door that extols the virtues of safe sex. Holy crap, did I just call Regina Mills? Shit. My phone rings and it makes me jump. I yelp in surprise.

"Hi," I bleat timidly in to the phone. I hadn't reckoned on this.

"I'm coming to get you," she says and hangs up. Only Regina Mills could sound so calm and so threatening at the same time.

_Holy crap. _I pull my jeans up. My heart is thumping. Coming to get me? _Oh no. _I'm going to be sick... no... I'm fine. Hang on. She's just messing with my head. I didn't tell her where I was. She can't find me here. Besides, it will take her hours to get here from Seattle, and we'll be long gone by then. I wash my hands and check my face in the mirror. I look flushed and slightly unfocused. _Hmm... tequila._

I wait at the bar for what feels like an eternity for the pitcher of beer and eventually return to the table.

"You've been gone so long." Ruby scolds me. "Where were you?"  
"I was in line for the restroom."  
José and Thomas are having some heated debate about our local baseball team. José pauses in his tirade to pour us all beers, and I take a long sip. "Ruby, I think I'd better step outside and get some fresh air." "Emma, you are such a lightweight."

"I'll be five minutes."

I make my way through the crowd again. I am beginning to feel nauseous, my head is spinning uncomfortably, and I'm a little unsteady on my feet. More unsteady than usual.

Drinking in the cool evening air in the parking lot makes me realize how drunk I am. My vision has been affected, and I'm really seeing double of everything like in old re-runs of _Tom and Jerry Cartoons. _I think I'm going to be sick. Why did I let myself get this messed up?

"Emma," José has joined me. "You okay?"  
"I think I've just had a bit too much to drink." I smile weakly at him.  
"Me too," he murmurs, and his dark eyes are watching me intently. "Do you need a hand?" he asks and steps closer, putting his arm around me.

"José I'm okay. I've got this." I try and push him away rather feebly.  
"Emma, please," he whispers, and now he's holding me in his arms, pulling me close. "José, what you doing?"  
"You know I like you Emma, please." He has one hand at the small of my back holding me against him, the other at my chin tipping back my head. _Holy fuck__… __he's going to kiss __me._

"No José, stop – no." I push him, but he's a wall of hard muscle, and I cannot shift him. His hand has slipped into my hair, and he's holding my head in place.

"Please, Emma, cariña," he whispers against my lips. His breath is soft and smells too sweet – of margarita and beer. He gently trails kisses along my jaw up to the side of my mouth. I feel panicky, drunk, and out of control. The feeling is suffocating.

"José, no," I plead. _I don't want this. _You are my friend, and I think I'm going to throw up.

"I think the lady said no." A voice in the dark says quietly. Holy shit! Regina Mills, she's here. How? José releases me.

"Mills," he says tersely. I glance anxiously up at Regina. She's glowering at José, and she's furious. Crap. My stomach heaves, and I double over, my body no longer able to tolerate the alcohol, and I vomit spectacularly on to the ground.

"Ugh – Dios mio, Emma!" José jumps back in disgust. Regina grabs my hair and pulls it out of the firing line and gently leads me over to a raised flowerbed on the edge of the parking lot. I note, with deep gratitude, that it's in relative darkness.

"If you're going to throw up again, do it here. I'll hold you." She has one arm around my shoulders – the other is holding my hair in a makeshift ponytail down my back so it's off my face. I try awkwardly to push her away, but I vomit again... and again. _Oh shit... how long is this going to last? _Even when my stomach's empty and nothing is coming up, horrible dry heaves wrack my body. I vow silently that I'll never ever drink again. This is just too appalling for words. Finally, it stops.

My hands are resting on the brick wall of the flowerbed, barely holding me up - vomiting profusely is exhausting. Mills takes her hands off me and passes me a handkerchief. Only she would have a monogrammed, freshly laundered, linen handkerchief inside her clutch. RMM_. _I didn't know you could still buy these. Vaguely I wonder what the M stands for as I wipe my mouth. I cannot bring myself to look at her. I'm swamped with shame, disgusted with myself. I want to be swallowed up by the azaleas in the flowerbed and be anywhere but here.

José is still hovering by the entrance to the bar, watching us. I groan and put my head in my hands. This has to be the single worst moment of my life. My head is still swimming as I try to remember a worse one – and I can only come up with Regina's rejection – and this is so, so many shades darker in terms of humiliation. I risk a peek at her. She's staring down at me, her face composed, giving nothing away. Turning, I glance at José who looks pretty shamefaced himself and, like me, intimidated by Mills. I glare at him. I have a few choice words for my so-called friend, none of which I can repeat in front of Regina Mills CEO. _Emma who are you kidding, she's just seen you hurl all over the ground and into the local flora. There's no disguising your lack of ladylike behavior._

"I'll err... see you inside," José mutters, but we both ignore him, and he slinks off back into the building. I'm on my own with Mills. Double crap. What should I say to her? Apologize for the phone call.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, staring at the handkerchief which I am furiously worrying with my fingers. _It's so soft._

"What are you sorry for Emma?"  
Oh crap, she wants her damned pound of flesh.  
"The phone call mainly, being sick. Oh, the list is endless," I murmur, feeling my skin coloring up. _Please, please can I die now?_

"We've all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you," she says dryly. "It's about knowing your limits, Emma. I mean, I'm all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behavior?"

My head buzzes with excess alcohol and irritation. What the hell has it got to do with her? I didn't invite her here. She sounds like a middle-aged woman scolding me like an errant child. Part of me wants to say, if I want to get drunk every night like this, then it's my decision and nothing to do with her but I'm not brave enough. Not now that I've thrown up in front of her. Why is she still standing there?

"No," I say contritely. "I've never been drunk before and right now I have no desire to ever be again."

I just don't understand why she's here. I begin to feel faint. She notices my dizziness and grabs me before I fall and grabs, making me rest in one of her shoulders. At this moment I can't help but to feel like a children in her arms.

"Come on, I'll take you home," she murmurs.  
"I need to tell Ruby." _Holy Moses, I'm in her arms again. _"My friend can tell her."  
"What?"  
"My friend Belle is talking to Miss Ruby."

"Oh?" I don't understand.  
"She was with me when you phoned."  
"In Seattle?" I'm confused.  
"No, I'm staying at the Heathman."  
_Still? Why?  
_"How did you find me?"  
"I tracked your cell phone Emma."  
Oh, of course she did. How is that possible? Is it legal? _Stalker, _my subconscious whispers at me through the cloud of tequila that's still floating in my brain, but somehow, because it's her, I don't mind.

"Do you have a jacket or a purse?"

"Err... yes, I came with both. Regina, please, I need to tell Ruby. She'll worry." Her mouth presses into a hard line, and she sighs heavily.

"If you must."

She sets me down, and, taking my hand, leads me back into the bar. I feel weak, still drunk, embarrassed, exhausted, mortified, and on some strange level absolutely off the scale thrilled. She's clutching my hand – such a confusing array of emotions. I'll need at least a week to process them all.

It's noisy, crowded, and the music has started so there is a large crowd on the dance floor. Ruby is not at our table, and José has disappeared. Thomas looks lost and forlorn on his own.

"Where's Ruby?" I shout at Thomas above the noise. My head is beginning to pound in time to the thumping bass line of the music.

"Dancing," Thomas shouts, and I can tell he's mad. He's eyeing Regina suspiciously. I struggle into my black jacket and place my small shoulder bag over my head so it sits at my hip. I'm ready to go, once I've seen Ruby.

"She's on the dance floor," I touch Regina's arm and lean up and shout in her ear, brushing her hair with my nose, smelling her clean, fresh smell. _Oh my. _All those forbidden, unfamiliar feelings that I have tried to deny surface and run amok through my drained body. I flush, and somewhere deep, deep down my muscles clench deliciously.

She rolls her eyes at me and takes my hand again and leads me to the bar. She's served immediately, no waiting for Mrs. Control-Freak Mills. Does everything come so easily to her? I can't hear what she orders. She hands me a very large glass of iced water.

"Drink," she shouts her order at me.

The moving lights are twisting and turning in time to the music casting strange colored light and shadows all over the bar and the clientele. She's alternately green, blue, white, and a demonic red. She's watching me intently. I take a tentative sip.

"All of it," she shouts.

She's so overbearing. She runs her hand through her black stylish hair. She looks frustrated, angry. What is her problem? Apart from a silly drunk girl ringing her in the middle of the night so she thinks she needs rescuing. And it turns out she does from her over amorous friend. Then seeing her being violently ill at her feet. _Oh Emma... are you ever going to live this down? _My subconscious is figuratively tutting and glaring at me over her half moon specs. I sway slightly, and she puts her hand on my shoulder to steady me. I do as I'm told and drink the entire glass. It makes me feel queasy. Taking the glass from me, she places it on the bar. I notice through a blur what she's wearing; a loose white linen shirt, skinny jeans, black high knee boots, and a dark pinstriped jacket. Her shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and I see a sprinkling of breaths in the gap. In my groggy frame of mind, she looks yummy.

She takes my hand once more. _Holy cow _– she's leading me onto the dance floor. Shit. I do not dance. She can sense my reluctance, and under the colored lights, I can see her amused, slightly sardonic smile. She gives my hand a sharp tug, and I'm in her arms again, and she starts to move, taking me with her. Boy, she can dance, and I can't believe that I'm following her step for step. Maybe it's because I'm drunk that I can keep up. She's holding me tight against her, her body against mine... if she wasn't clutching me so tightly, I'm sure I would swoon at her feet. In the back of my mind, my mother's often-recited warning comes to me: _Never trust a man who can dance. But __she's__a woman so it doesn__'__t imply or does it?_

She moves us through the crowded throng of dancers to the other side of the dance floor, and we are beside Ruby and Belle, Regina's friend. The music is pounding away, loud and leery, outside and inside my head. I gasp. Ruby _is making her moves. _She's dancing her ass off, and she only ever does that if she likes someone. Really likes someone. It means there'll be three of us for breakfast tomorrow morning. _Ruby!_

Regina leans over and shouts in Belle's ear. I cannot hear what she says. Belle is not too tall and not tops short sorta of Regina's high, wavy reddish hair, and light, wickedly gleaming eyes. I can't tell the color under the pulsating heat of the flashing lights. Belle grins, and pulls Ruby into her arms, where she is more than happy to be… _Ruby! _Even in my inebriated state, I am shocked. She's only just met her and she usually goes for guys. She nods at whatever Belle says and grins at me and waves. Regina propels us off the dance floor in double quick time.

But I never got to talk to her. Is she okay? I can see where things are heading for them. _I need to do the safe sex lecture. _In the back of my mind, I hope she reads one of the posters on the back of the toilet doors. My thoughts crash through my brain, fighting the drunk, fuzzy feeling. It's so warm in here, so loud, so colorful – too bright. My head begins to swim, oh no... and I can feel the floor coming up to meet my face or so it feels. The last thing I hear before I pass out in Regina Mills's arms is her harsh epithet.

"Fuck!"

* * *

It's very quiet. The light is muted. I am comfortable and warm, in this bed. Hmm... I open my eyes, and for a moment, I'm tranquil and serene, enjoying the strange unfamiliar surroundings. I have no idea where I am. The headboard behind me is in the shape of a massive sun. It's oddly familiar. The room is large and airy and plushly furnished in browns and golds and beige. I have seen it before. Where? My befuddled brain struggles through its recent visual memories. Holy crap. I'm in the Heathman hotel... in a suite. I have stood in a room similar to this with Ruby. This looks bigger. Oh shit. I'm in Regina Mills's suite. How did I get here?

Fractured memories of the previous night come slowly back to haunt me. The drinking, _oh no the drinking, _the phone call, _oh no the phone call, _the vomiting, _oh no the vomiting. _José and then Regina. _Oh no. _I cringe inwardly. I don't remember coming here. I'm wearing my t-shirt, bra, and panties. No socks. No jeans. _Holy shit._

I glance at the bedside table. On it is a glass of orange juice and two tablets. Advil. Control freak that she is, she thinks of everything. I sit up and take the tablets. Actually, I don't feel that bad, probably much better than I deserve. The orange juice tastes divine. It's thirst quenching and refreshing. Nothing beats freshly squeezed orange juice for reviving an arid mouth.

There's a knock on the door. My heart leaps into my mouth, and I can't seem to find my voice. She opens the door anyway and strolls in.

Holy hell, she's been working out. She's in gray sweat pants that are tight from the top accentuating her behind and lose at the bottom and a gray singlet, which is dark with sweat, like her hair. _Renina Mills__'__s sweat, the notion does odd things to me. _I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I feel like a two- year old, if I close my eyes then I'm not really here.

"Good morning Emma. How are you feeling?"

_Oh no._

"Better than I deserve," I mumble.

I peek up at her. She places a large shopping bag on a chair and grasps each end of the towel that she has around her neck. She's staring at me, chocolate brown eyes dark, and as usual, I have no idea what she's thinking. She hides her thoughts and feelings so well.

"How did I get here?" My voice is small, contrite.

She comes and sits down on the edge of the bed. She's close enough for me to touch, for me to smell. Oh my... sweat and body wash and Regina, it's a heady cocktail so much better than a margarita, and now I can speak from experience.

"After you passed out, I didn't want to risk the leather upholstery in my car taking you all the way to your apartment. So I brought you here," she says phlegmatically.

"Did you put me to bed?"  
"Yes." Her face is impassive.  
"Did I throw up again?" My voice is quieter.  
"No."  
"Did you undress me?" I whisper.  
"Yes." She quirks an eyebrow at me as I blush furiously.  
"We didn't," I whisper, my mouth drying in mortified horror as I can't complete the question. I stare at my hands.

"Emma, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my women sentient and receptive," she says dryly. "I'm so sorry."

Her mouth lifts slightly in a wry smile.  
"It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I'll forget in a while."  
Me neither – oh she's laughing at me, the bastard. I didn't ask her to come and get me.

Somehow I've been made to feel like the villain of the piece.  
"You didn't have to track me down with whatever James Bond stuff you're developing for the highest bidder," I snap at her. She stares at me, surprised, and if I'm not mistaken, a little wounded.

"Firstly, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet. Secondly, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices, and thirdly, if I hadn't come to get you, you'd probably be waking up in the photographer's bed, and from what I can remember, you weren't overly enthused about him pressing his suit," she says acidly.

_Pressing his suit! _I glance up at Regina, she's glaring at me, her brown eyes blazing, aggrieved. I try to bite my lip, but I fail to repress my laughter.

"Which medieval chronicle did you escape from?" I giggle. "You sound like a courtly knight."

Her mood visibly shifts. Her eyes soften and her expression warms, and I see a trace of a smile on her beautifully chiseled lips.

"Emma, I don't think so. Dark knight maybe." Her smile is sardonic, and she shakes her head. "Did you eat last night?" Her tone is accusatory. I shake my head. What major transgression have I committed now? Her jaw clenches, but her face remains impassive.

"You need to eat. That's why you were so ill. Honestly Emma, it's drinking rule number one." She runs this hand through her hair, and I know it's because she's exasperated.

"Are you going to continue to scold me?" "Is that what I'm doing?"  
"I think so."  
"You're lucky I'm just scolding you." "What do you mean?"

"Well, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk." She closes her eyes, dread etched on her lovely face, and she shudders slightly. When she opens her eyes, she glares at me. "I hate to think what could have happened to you."

I scowl back at her. What is her problem? What's it to her? If I was her... _well I'm not. _Though maybe, part of me would like to be. The thought pierces through the irritation I feel at her high-handed words. I flush at the waywardness of my subconscious - she's doing her happy dance in a bright red hula skirt at the thought of being hers.

"I would have been fine. I was with Ruby."  
"And the photographer?" she snaps at me.  
_Hmm... young José. _I'll need to face her at some point.  
"José just got out of line." I shrug.  
"Well the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners."

"You are quite the disciplinarian," I hiss at her.  
"Oh, Emma, you have no idea." Her eyes narrow, and then she grins wickedly. It's disarming. One minute, I'm confused and angry, the next I'm gazing at her gorgeous smile. _Wow_... I am entranced, and it's because her smile is so rare. I quite forget what she's talking about.

"I'm going to have a shower. Unless you'd like to shower first?" She cocks her head to one side, still grinning. My heartbeat has picked up, and my medulla oblongata has neglected to fire any synapses to make me breathe. Her grin widens, and she reaches over and runs her thumb down my cheek and across my lower lip.

"Breathe, Emma," she whispers and rises. "Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. You must be famished." She heads into the bathroom and closes the door.

I let out the breath that I've been holding. Why is she so damned attractive? Right now I want to go and join her in the shower. I have never felt this way about anyone. My hormones are racing. My skin tingles where her thumb traced over my face and lower lip. I feel like squirming with a needy, achy... discomfort. I don't understand this reaction. _Hmm... Desire. _This is desire. This is what it feels like.

I lie back on the soft feather filled pillows. '_If you were mine.' _Oh my – what would I do to be hers? She's the only woman who has ever set my blood racing around my body. Yet, she's so antagonizing too; she's difficult, complicated, and confusing. One minute she rebuffs me, the next he sends me fourteen-thousand-dollar books, then she tracks me like a stalker. And for all that, I have spent the night in her hotel suite, and I feel safe. Protected. She cares enough to come and rescue me from some mistakenly perceived danger. She's not a dark knight at all, but a white knight in shining, dazzling armor – a classic romantic hero – Tess D'Urbeville or Cleopatra.

I scramble out of her bed frantically searching for my jeans. She emerges from the bathroom hair wet and glistening from the shower, with just a robe to cover her, and there am I – all bare legs and awkward gawkiness. She's surprised to see me out of bed.

"If you're looking for your jeans, I've sent them to the laundry." Her gaze is a dark obsidian. "They were spattered with your vomit."

"Oh." I flush scarlet. Why oh why does she always catch me on the back foot?  
"I sent Taylor out for another pair and some shoes. They're in the bag on the chair." _Clean clothes. _What an unexpected bonus.  
"Um... I'll have a shower," I mutter. "Thanks." What else can I say? I grab the bag and dart into the bathroom away from the unnerving proximity of naked Regina. Nefertiti has nothing on her.

In the bathroom, it's all hot and steamy from where she's been showering. I strip off my clothes and quickly clamber into the shower anxious to be under the cleansing stream of water. It cascades over me, and I hold up my face into the welcoming torrent. I want Regina Mills. I want her badly. Simple fact. For the first time in my life, I want to go to bed with a woman. I want to feel her hands and her mouth on me.

She said she likes her women sentient. _She's probably not celibate then. _But she's not made a pass at me, unlike Leroy or José. I don't understand. Does she want me? She wouldn't kiss me last week. Am I repellent to her? And yet, I'm here and she brought me here. I just don't know what her game is? What she's thinking? _You've slept in her bed all night, and she's not touched you Emma. You do the math. _My subconscious has reared her ugly, snide head. I ignore her.

The water is warm and soothing. _Hmm_... I could stay under this shower, in her bathroom, forever. I reach for the body-wash and it smells of her. It's a delicious smell of apples. I rub it all over myself, fantasizing that it's her - her rubbing this heavenly scented soap into my body, across my breasts, over my stomach, between my thighs with her fingered hands. _Oh my. _My heartbeat picks up again, this feels so... so good.

"Breakfast is here." She knocks on the door, startling me.  
"Okay," I stutter as I'm yanked cruelly out of my erotic daydream.  
I climb out of the shower and grab two towels. I put my hair in one and wrap it Carmen Miranda style on my head. Hastily, I dry myself, ignoring the pleasurable feel of the towel rubbing against my over-sensitized skin.

I inspect the bag of jeans. Not only has Taylor brought me jeans and new Converse, but a pale blue shirt, socks, and underwear. Oh my. A clean bra and panties – actually to describe them in such a mundane, utilitarian way does not do them justice. They are an exquisite design of some fancy European lingerie. All pale blue lace and finery. Wow. I am in awe and slightly daunted by this underwear. What's more, they fit perfectly. But of course they do. I flush to think of the Buzz-Cut man in some lingerie store buying this for me. I wonder what else is in his job description.

I dress quickly. The rest of the clothing is a perfect fit. I brusquely towel-dry my hair and try desperately to bring it under control. But, as usual, it refuses to cooperate, and my only option is to restrain it with a hair tie. I shall search in my purse, when I find it. I take a deep breath. Time to face Mrs. Confusing.

I'm relieved to find the bedroom empty. I hunt quickly for my purse – but it's not in here. Taking another deep breath, I enter the living area of the suite. It's huge. There's an opulent, plush seating area, all overstuffed couches and soft cushions, an elaborate coffee table with a stack of large glossy books, a study area with a top-of-the-range Mac, an enormous plasma screen TV on the wall, and Regina is sitting at a dining table on the other side of the room reading a newspaper. It's the size of a tennis court or something, not that I play tennis, though I have watched Ruby a few times. _Ruby!_

"Crap, Ruby," I croak. Regina peers up at me.


	6. Chapter 6: Can't Remember

**Hey lovelies, **

**I'm back before you even thought about it wasn't I? haha. Well I hope you are ****enjoying****the story as much as I am! Just a few comment from your reviews. Yes, Emma Swan is not going to be exactly like ****Anastasia****Steel so don't worry, they will ****whatsoever have many things in common, but not everything. JoanaCTeixeira, I would love to see your art about this story! Be ready things are about to change. As always thank you for reading. Please leave reviews and comments.**

**-XOXO Gab95Lin**

**Disclaimer: I own anything. **

* * *

"She knows you're here and still alive. I texted Belle," she says with just a trace of humor.

_Oh no. _I remember her fervent dancing of the night before. All her patented moves used with maximum effect to seduce Regina's friend no less! What's she going to think about me being here? I've never stayed out before. She's still with Belle. She's only done this twice before, and both times I've had to endure the hideous pink PJs for a week from the fallout. She's going to think I've had a one-night stand too.

Regina stares at me imperiously. She's wearing a white linen shirt, collar with the first three bottoms undone.

"Sit," she commands, pointing to a place at the table. I make my way across the room and sit down opposite her as I've been directed. The table is laden with food.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu." She gives me a crooked, apologetic smile.

"That's very profligate of you," I murmur, bewildered by the choice, though I am hungry damn I could a cow!

"Yes, it is." She sounds guilty.  
I opt for pancakes, maple syrup, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Regina tries to hide a smile as she returns to her egg white omelet. The food is delicious. "Tea?" she asks.

"You don't happen to have hot cocoa with cinnamon right?"

She raises and eyebrow and passes me a small cup with what looks like hot chocolate, whip cream in the top and cinnamon as top layer. Jeez, how did she knew that's how I like it and what I wanted.

"Your hair's very damp," she scolds.  
"I couldn't find the hairdryer," I mutter, embarrassed. Not that I looked. Regina's mouth presses into a hard line, but she doesn't say anything.  
"Thank you for organizing the clothes."  
"It's a pleasure, Emma. That color suits you."  
I blush and stare down at my fingers.  
"You know, you really should learn to take a compliment." Her tone is castigating. "I should give you some money for these clothes."

She glares at me as if I have offended her on some level. I hurry on.

"You've already given me the books, which, of course, I can't accept. But these clothes, please let me pay you back." I smile tentatively at her.

"Emma, trust me, I can afford it."  
"That's not the point. Why should you buy these for me?"  
"Because I can," her eyes flash with a wicked gleam.  
"Just because you can doesn't mean that you should," I reply quietly as she arches an eyebrow at me, her eyes twinkling, and suddenly I feel that we're talking about something else, but I don't know what it is. Which reminds me...

"Why did you send me the books, Regina?" My voice is soft. She puts down her cutlery and regards me intently, her brown eyes burning with some unfathomable emotion. Holy crap – my mouth dries.

"Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist – and I was holding you and you were looking up at me – all kiss me, kiss me, Regina," she pauses and shrugs slightly, "I felt I owed you an apology and a warning." She runs her hand through her hair. "Emma, I'm not a hearts and flowers kind of woman, I don't do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear from me." She closes her eyes as if in defeat. "There's something about you, though, and I'm finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you've figured that out already."

My appetite vanishes. _She __can't__stay away! _"Then don't," I whisper.  
She gasps, her eyes wide.  
"You don't know what you're saying." "Enlighten me, then."

We sit gazing at each other, neither of us touching our food.  
"You're not celibate then?" I breathe.  
Amusement lights up her chocolate brown eyes.  
"No, Emma, I'm not celibate." She pauses for this information to sink in, and I flush scarlet. The mouth-to-brain filter is broken again. I can't believe I've just said that out loud, but a woman should speak her mind after all.

"What are your plans for the next few days?" she asks, her voice low.  
"I'm working today, from midday. What is the time?" I panic suddenly.  
"It's just after ten, you've plenty of time. What about tomorrow?" She has her elbows on the table, and her chin is resting on her steepled fingers.

"Ruby and I are going to start packing. We're moving to Seattle next weekend, and I'm working at Clayton's all this week."

"You have a place in Seattle already?"  
"Yes."  
"Where?"  
"I can't remember the address. It's in the Pike Market District."  
"Not far from me," her lips twitch up in a half smile. "So what are you going to do for work in Seattle?"

Where is she going with all these questions? The Regina Mills Inquisition is almost as irritating as the Ruby DeLucas Inquisition.

"I've applied for some internships. I'm waiting to hear." "Have you applied to my company as I suggested?"  
I flush... _of course not.  
_"Um... no."

"And what's wrong with my company?"  
"Your company or your Company?" I smirk.  
She smiles slightly.  
"Are you smirking at me, Miss Swan?" She cocks her head to one side, and I think she looks amused, but it's hard to tell. I flush and glance down at my unfinished breakfast. I can't look her in the eye when she uses that tone of voice.

"I'd like to bite that lip," she whispers darkly.

_Oh my. _I am completely unaware that I am chewing my bottom lip, I mean is something I tent to do often, but never thought anyone noticed. My mouth pops open as I gasp and swallow at the same time. That has to be the sexiest thing anybody has ever said to me. My heart beat spikes, and I think I'm panting. Jeez, I'm a quivering, moist mess, and she hasn't even touched me. I squirm in my seat and meet her dark glare.

"Why don't you?" I challenge quietly.

"Because I'm not going to touch you Emma - not until I have your written consent to do so." Her lips hint at a smile.

_What?_

"What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I say." She sighs and shakes her head at me, amused, but exasperated too. "I need to show you, Emma. What time do you finish work this evening?"

"About eight."

"Well, we could go to Seattle this evening or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and I'll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours."

"Why can't you tell me now?" I sound petulant.

"Because I'm enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you're enlightened, you probably won't want to see me again."

_Holy shit. _What does that mean? Does she white-slave small children to some Godforsaken part of the planet? Is she part of some underworld crime syndicate? It would explain why she's so rich. Is she deeply religious? Is she impotent? Surely not, she could prove that to me right now. _Oh my. _I flush scarlet thinking about the possibilities. This is getting me nowhere. I'd like to solve the riddle that is Regina Mills sooner rather than later. If it means that whatever secret she has is so gross that I don't want to know her any more then, quite frankly, it will be a relief. _Don't lie to yourself – my subconscious yells at me– it'll have to be pretty bloody bad to have you running for the hills._

"Tonight."  
She raises an eyebrow.  
"Like Eve, you're so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge," she smirks.  
"Are you smirking at me, Mrs. Mills?" I ask sweetly. _Pompous ass.  
_She narrows her eyes at me and picks up her BlackBerry. She presses one number. "Taylor. I'm going to need Charlie Tango."  
_Charlie Tango! Who's he?  
_"From Portland at say twenty-thirty... No, standby at Escala... All night."

_All night!_

"Yes. On call tomorrow morning. I'll pilot from Portland to Seattle."

_Pilot?_

"Standby pilot from twenty-two-thirty." She puts the phone down. No please or thank you.

"Do people always do what you tell them?"  
"Usually, if they want to keep their jobs," she says, deadpan.  
"And if they don't work for you?"  
"Oh, I can be very persuasive, Emma. You should finish your breakfast. And then I'll drop you home. I'll pick you up at Clayton's at eight when you finish. We'll fly up to Seattle."

I blink at her rapidly.  
"Fly?"  
"Yes. I have a helicopter."  
I gape at her. I have my second date with Regina oh-so-mysterious Mills From coffee to helicopter rides. Wow.

"We'll go by helicopter to Seattle?"  
"Yes."  
"Why?"  
She grins wickedly.  
"Because I can. Finish your breakfast."  
How can I eat now? I'm going to Seattle by helicopter with Regina Mills. And she wants to bite my lip… I squirm at the thought, but I can just give in, not if she doesn't want me

"Eat," she says more sharply. "Emma, I have an issue with wasted food… eat."  
"I can't eat all this." I gape at what's left on the table.  
"Eat what's on your plate. If you'd eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be declaring my hand so soon." Her mouth sets in a grim line. She looks angry. I frown and return to my now cold food. _I'm too excited to eat, Regina. Don't you understand?You__'__re extremely sexy and we have a second date. How can a girl like me focus in eating?_My subconscious explains. But I'm too much of a coward or to shy to just voice these thoughts aloud, especially when she looks so sullen. _Hmm, _like a small girl. I find the thought amusing.

"What's so funny?" she asks. I shake my head, not daring tell her and keep my eyes on my food. Swallowing my last piece of pancake, I peek up at her. She's eyeing me speculatively. Why am I doing what she tells me to do?

"Good girl," she says. "I'll take you home when you've dried your hair. I don't want you getting ill." There's some kind of unspoken promise in her words. _What does she mean? _I leave the table, wondering for a moment if I should ask permission but dismissing the idea, I don't need her permission, she doesn't own me..Yet… Sounds like a dangerous precedent to set. I head back to her bedroom. A thought stops me.

"Where did you sleep last night?" I turn to gaze at her still sitting in the dining room chair. I can't see any blankets or sheets out here – perhaps she's had them tidied away.

"In my bed," she says simply, her gaze impassive again. "Oh."  
"Yes, it was quite a novelty for me too." She smiles.

"Not having... sex." There – I said the word. I blush – of course.

"No," she shakes her head and frowns as if recalling something uncomfortable. "Sleeping with someone." She picks up her newspaper and continues to read.

What in heaven's name does that mean? She's never slept with anyone? She's a virgin? Somehow I doubt that. I stand staring at her in disbelief. She is the most mystifying person I've ever met. And it dawns on me that I have slept with Regina Mills, and I kick myself what would I have given to be conscious to watch her sleep. See her vulnerable. Somehow, I find that hard to imagine, but intend I was dead drunk. Well, allegedly all will be revealed tonight.

In her bedroom, I hunt through a chest of drawers and find the hair dryer. Using my fingers, I dry my hair the best I can. When I've finished, I head into the bathroom. I want to clean my teeth. I eye Regina's toothbrush. It would be like having her in my mouth._Hmm_... Glancing guiltily over my shoulder at the door, I feel the bristles on the toothbrush. They are damp. She must have used it already. Grabbing it quickly, I squirt toothpaste on it and brush my teeth in double quick time. I feel so naughty. It's such a thrill.

Grabbing my t-shirt, bra, and panties from yesterday, I put them in the shopping bag that Taylor brought and head back to the living area to hunt for my bag and jacket. Deep joy, there is a hair tie in my bag. Regina is watching me as I tie my hair into a ponytail, her expression unreadable. I feel her eyes follow me as I sit down and wait for her to finish. She's on his BlackBerry talking to someone.

"They want two?... How much will that cost?... Okay, and what safety measures do we have in place?... And they'll go via Suez?... How safe is Ben Sudan?... And when do they arrive in Darfur?... Okay, let's do it. Keep me abreast of progress." She hangs up.

"Ready to go?"

I nod. I wonder what her conversation was about. She slips on a leather jacket, picks up her car keys and her hand bad, and heads for the door.

"After you, Miss Swan," she murmurs, opening the door for me. She looks so casually elegant.

I pause, fractionally too long, drinking in the sight of her. And to think I slept with her last night and, after all the tequila and the throwing up, she's still here. Damn I need to be conscious next time. What's more, she wants to take me to Seattle. Why me? I don't understand it. I head out the door recalling her words – _There's something about you _– Well the feeling is entirely mutual Mrs. Mills, and I aim to find out what it is.

We walk in silence down the corridor toward the elevator. As we wait, I peek up at her through my lashes, and she looks out of the corner of her eyes down at me. I smile, and her dark red lips twitch.

The elevator arrives, and we step in. We're alone. Suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, possibly our proximity in such an enclosed space, the atmosphere between us changes, charging with an electric, exhilarating anticipation. My breathing alters as my heart races. Her head turns fractionally toward me, her eyes darkest slate. I bite my lip.

"Oh, fuck the paperwork," she growls. She lunges at me, pushing me against the wall of the elevator. Before I know it, she's got both of my hands in one of her in a vice-like grip above my head, and she's pinning me to the wall using her hips. Holy shit. She's stronger than she looks. Her other hand grabs my ponytail and yanks down, bringing my face down, and her lips are on mine. It's only just not painful. I moan into her mouth, giving her tongue an opening. She takes full advantage, her tongue expertly exploring my mouth. I have never been kissed like this. My tongue tentatively strokes her and joins her in a slow erotic dance that's all about touch and sensation, all bump and grind. She brings her hand up to grasp my chin and holds me in place. I am helpless, my hands pinned, my face held, and her hips restraining me. . I feel her breast against mine. I can feel her body heat. _Oh my_... She wants me. Regina Mills, Egyptian god, wants me, and I want _her, _here… now, in the elevator.

"You. Are. So. Sweet," she murmurs, each word a staccato.

The elevator stops, the doors open, and she pushes away from me in the blink of an eye, leaving me hanging. What the hell?. Three men in business suits look at both of us and smirk as they climb on board. My heart rate is through the roof, I feel like I've run an uphill race. I want to lean over and grasp my knees... but that's just too obvious.

I glance up at her. She looks so cool and calm, like she's been doing the Seattle Times crossword. _How unfair. _Is she totally unaffected by my presence? She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, and she gently blows out a deep breath. Oh, she's affected all right and my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba. The businessmen exit on the second floor. We have one more floor to travel.

"You've brushed your teeth," she says, staring at me.  
"I used your toothbrush," I breathe.  
Her so gorgeous red lips quirk up in a half smile.  
"Oh, Emma Swan, what am I going to do with you?"  
The doors open at the first floor, and she takes my hand and pulls me out.  
"What is it about elevators?" she mutters, more to herself than to me as she strides across the lobby. I struggle to keep pace with her because my wits have been thoroughly, royally, scattered all over the floor and walls of elevator three in the Heathman Hotel.

Regina opens the passenger door to the black Audi SUV, and I clamber in. It's a beast of a car. She hasn't mentioned the outburst of passion that exploded in the elevator. Should I? Should we talk about it or pretend that it didn't happen? It hardly seems real, my first proper no-holds-barred kiss. As time ticks on, I assign it mythical, Arthurian legend, Lost City of Atlantis status. It never happened, it never existed. Perhaps I imagined it all. No. I touch my lips, swollen from her kiss. It definitely happened. I am a changed woman. I want this woman, desperately, and she wanted me. So what's holding us?

I glance at her. Regina is her usual polite, slightly distant self.

How confusing.

She starts the engine and reverses out of her space in the parking lot. She switches on the MP3 player. The car interior is filled with the sweetest, most magical music of two women singing. Oh wow... all my senses are in disarray, so this is doubly affecting. It sends delicious shivers up my spine. Regina pulls out on to SW Park Avenue, and she drives with easy, lazy confidence.

"What are we listening to?"  
"It's the Flower Duet by Delibes, from the opera Lakmé. Do you like it?" "Regina, it's wonderful."

"It is, isn't it?" he grins, glancing at me. And for a fleeting moment, he seems his age; young, carefree, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. Is this the key to him? Music? I sit and listen to the angelic voices, teasing and seducing me.

"Can I hear that again?"

"Of course." Regina pushes a button, and the music is caressing me once more. It's a gentle, slow, sweet, and sure assault on my aural senses.

"You like classical music?" I ask, hoping for a rare insight into her personal preferences.

"My taste is eclectic, Emma, everything from Thomas Tallis to the Kings of Leon. It depends on my mood. You?"

"Me too. Though I don't know who Thomas Tallis is and I happen to like Rap at times."  
She turns and gazes at me briefly before her eyes are back on the road.  
"I'll play it for you sometime. She's a sixteenth century British composer. Tudor, church choral music." Regina grins at me. "Sounds very esoteric, I know, but it's also magical, Emma and Rap?."

I don't answer, so what if I happen to like Eminem or 50 Cents music? Is not like I'm old or something. She presses a button, and the Kings of Leon start singing. Hmm... this I know. Sex on Fire. How appropriate. The music is interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing over the MP3 speakers. Regina hits a button on the steering wheel.

"Mills," she snaps. She's so brusque.

"Mrs. Mills, it's Welch here. I have the information you require." A rasping, disembodied voice comes over the speakers.

"Good. Email it to me. Anything to add?"  
"No mam."  
She presses the button, then the call ceases and the music is back. No goodbye or thanks. I'm so glad that I never seriously entertained the thought of working for her. I shudder at the very idea. She's just too controlling and cold with her employees. The music cuts off again for the phone.

"Mills."  
"The NDA has been emailed to you, Mrs. Mills." A woman's voice.  
"Good. That's all, Andrea."  
"Good day, mam."  
Regina hangs up by pressing a button on the steering wheel. The music is on very briefly when the phone rings again. Holy hell, is this her life, constant nagging phone calls? "Mills," she snaps.

"Hi, Regina, d'you get laid?"  
"Hello, Belle – I'm on speaker phone, and I'm not alone in the car," Regina sighs. "Who's with you?"

Regina rolls her eyes. "Emma Swan." "Hi, Em!"  
Em!

"Hello, Belle."  
"Heard a lot about you," Belle murmurs huskily. Regina frowns. "Don't believe a word Ruby says."

Belle laughs.

"I'm dropping Emma off now." Regina emphasizes my name. "Shall I pick you up?"

"Sure."  
"See you shortly." Regina hangs up, and the music is back.  
"Why do you insist on calling me Emma?"  
"Because it's your name."  
"I prefer Em."  
"Do you now?" she murmurs.  
We are almost at my apartment. It's not taken long.  
"Emma," she muses. I scowl at her, but she ignores my expression. "What happened in the elevator - it won't happen again, well, not unless it's premeditated."

She pulls up outside my duplex. I belatedly realize she's not asked me where I live - yet she knows. But then she sent the books, of course she knows where I live. What able, cellphone-tracking, helicopter owning, stalker wouldn't.

Why won't she kiss me again? I pout at the thought. I don't understand. Honestly, her surname should be Cryptic, not Mills. She climbs out of the car, walking with easy, not so long legged grace round to my side to open the door, ever the gentleman WOMAN! - except perhaps in rare, precious moments in elevators. I flush at the memory of her mouth on mine, and the thought that I'd been unable to touch her enters my mind. I wanted to run my fingers through her decadent, stylish hair, but I'd been unable to move my hands. I am retrospectively frustrated. What is this woman doing to me?

"I liked what happened in the elevator," I murmur as I climb out of the car. I'm not sure if I hear an audible gasp, but I choose to ignore it and head up the steps to the front door.

Ruby and Belle are sitting at our dining table. The fourteen-thousand-dollar books have disappeared. Thank heavens. I have plans for them. She has the most un-Ruby ridiculous grin on her face, and she looks mussed up in a sexy kind of way. Regina follows me into the living area, and in spite of her I've-been-having-a-good-time-all-night grin, Ruby eyes her suspiciously.

"Hi Em." She leaps up to hug me, then holds me at arm's length so she can examine me. She frowns and turns to Regina.

"Good morning, Regina," she says, and her tone is a little hostile.  
"Miss DeLucas," she says in her stiff formal way.  
"Regina, her name is Ruby" Belle grumbles.  
"Ruby." Regina gives her a polite nod and glares at Belle who grins and rises to hug me too.

"Hi, Em," she smiles, her blue eyes twinkling, and I like her immediately. She's obviously nothing like Regina, but then they're best friends.

"Hi, Belle," I smile at her, and I'm aware that I'm biting my lip.  
"Belle, we'd better go." Regina says mildly.  
"Sure." She turns to Ruby and pulls her into her arms and gives her a long lingering ... get a room. I stare at my feet, embarrassed. I glance up at Regina, and she's watching me intently. I narrow my eyes at her. Why can't you kiss me like that? Belle continues to kiss Ruby, sweeping her off her feet and dipping her in a dramatic hold so that her hair touches the ground as she kisses her hard.

"Laters, baby," she grins.

Ruby just melts. I've never seen her melt before – the words comely and compliant come to mind. Compliant Ruby, boy, Belle must be good. Regina rolls her eyes and stares down at me, her expression unreadable, although maybe she's mildly amused. She tucks a stray strand of my hair that has worked its way free from my ponytail behind my ear. My breath hitches at the contact, and I lean my head slightly into her fingers. Her eyes soften, and she runs her thumb across my lower lip. My blood sears in my veins. And all too quickly, her touch is gone. I've never felt this way, so vulnerable so manageable. She's dangerous for me.

"Laters, baby," she murmurs, and I have to laugh because it's so unlike her. But even though I know she's being irreverent, the endearment tugs at something deep inside me.

"I'll pick you up at eight." She turns to leave, opening the front door and stepping out on to the porch. Belle follows her to the car but turns and blows Ruby another kiss, and I feel an unwelcome pang of jealousy.

"So, did you?" Ruby asks as we watch them climb into the car and drive off, the burning curiosity evident in her voice.

"No," I snap irritably, hoping that will halt the questions. We head back into the apartment. "You obviously did, though." I can't contain my envy. Ruby always manages to ensnare men and now women. She is irresistible, beautiful, sexy, funny, forward... all the things that I'm not or that I am but too ashamed to let out. But her answering grin is infectious.

"And I'm seeing her again this evening." She claps her hands and jumps up and down like a small child. She cannot contain her excitement and happiness, and I can't help but feel happy for her. A happy KRuby... this is going to be interesting.

"Regina is taking me to Seattle this evening." "Seattle?"  
"Yes."  
"Maybe you will then?"

"Oh, I hope so."  
"You like her then?"  
"Yes."  
"Like her enough to... ?"


	7. Chapter 7: Seattle

**Hi lovelies, **

**I'm back with more! Hope you guys are enjoying this story as much as I am. Also I hope the changes are noticeable for those who read the actual book first. Also don't forget to leave reviews and comments, let's not forget to tell the SwanQueen fellas about this story ;)**

**By the way a huge thanks to Megan Turner for a little help needed in this chapter. **

**-XOXO Gab95Lin**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

* * *

"Yes."  
She raises her eyebrows.  
"Wow. Emma Swan, finally falling for a someone, and it's Regina Mills – hot, sexy billionaire."

"Oh yeah – it's all about the money." I smirk, and we both fall into a fit of giggles. "Is that a new blouse?" she asks, and I let her have all the unexciting details about my night.

"Has she kissed you yet?" she asks as she makes coffee. I blush.  
"Once."  
"Once!" she scoffs.  
I nod, rather shame faced.

"She's very reserved."  
She frowns.  
"That's odd."  
"I don't think odd covers it really," I murmur.  
"We need to make sure you're simply irresistible for this evening," she says with determination.

_Oh no_… this sounds like it will be time consuming, humiliating, painful and actually looking like a girl, I prefer my jeans and t-shirts. Honestly.  
"I have to be at work in an hour."  
"I can work with that timeframe. Come on." Ruby grabs my hand and takes me into her bedroom.

The day drags at Clayton's even though we're busy. We've hit the summer season, so I have to spend two hours restocking the shelves once the shop is closed. It's mindless work, and it gives me too much time to think. I've not really had a chance all day.

Under Ruby's tireless and frankly intrusive instruction, my legs and underarms are shaved to perfection, my eyebrows plucked, and I am buffed all over. It has been a most unpleasant experience. But she assures me that this is what women expect these days. What else will she expect? I have to convince Ruby that this is what I want to do. For some strange reason, she doesn't trust her, maybe because she's so stiff and formal. She says she can't put her finger on it, but I have promised to text her when I arrive in Seattle. I haven't told her about the helicopter, she'd freak.

I also have the José issue. He's left three messages and seven missed calls on my cell. He's also called home twice. Ruby has been very vague as to where I am. He'll know she's covering for me. Ruby doesn't do vague. But I have decided to let him stew. I'm still too angry with him.

Regina mentioned some kind of written paperwork, and I don't know if she was joking or if I'm going to have to sign something. It's so frustrating trying to guess. And on top of all the angst, I can barely contain my excitement or my nerves. Tonight's the night! After all this time, am I ready for this? My inner goddess glares at me, tapping her small foot impatiently. She's been ready for this for years, and she's ready for anything with Regina Mills, but I still don't understand what she sees in me… mousey Emma Swan - it makes no sense, except that I happen to have a muscular body, maybe she likes me because I'm fit? No that it is dumb.

She is punctual, of course, and waiting for me when I leave Clayton's. She climbs out of the back of the Audi to open the door and smiles warmly at me.

"Good evening, Miss Swan," she says.

"Mrs. Mills." I nod politely to her as I climb into the backseat of the car. Taylor is sitting in the driver's seat.

"Hello, Taylor," I say.

"Good evening, Miss Swan," his voice is polite and professional. Regina climbs in the other side and clasps my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that I feel all the way though my body.

"How was work?" she asks.  
"Very long," I reply, and my voice is husky, too low, and full of need.

"Yes, it's been a long day for me too." Her tone is serious.  
"What did you do?" I manage.  
"I went shopping with Belle." Her thumb strokes my knuckles, back and forth, and my heart skips a beat as my breathing accelerates, she's so breath taking. How does she do this to me? She's only touching a very small area of my body, and the hormones are flying, maybe is the fact that she is gorgeous I mean who wouldn't feel this way.

The drive to the heliport is short and, before I know it, we arrive. I wonder where the fabled helicopter might be. We're in a built-up area of the city and even I know helicopters need space to take off and land. Taylor parks, climbs out, and opens my car door. Regina is beside me in an instant and takes my hand again.

"Ready?" she asks. I nod and want to say _for anything, _but I can't articulate the words as I'm too nervous, too excited.

"Taylor." She nods curtly at her driver, and we head into the building, straight to a set of elevators. _Elevator! _The memory of our kiss this morning comes back to haunt me. I have thought of nothing else all day, if it was for me we would be kissing in this very moment, but I have to content myself. Daydreaming at the register at Clayton's. Twice Mr. Clayton had to shout my name to bring me back to Earth. To say I've been distracted would be the understatement of the year. Regina glances down at me, a slight smile on her lips. Ha! She's thinking about it too.

"It's only three floors," she says dryly, her brown eyes dancing with amusement. She's telepathic surely. It's spooky.

I try to keep my face impassive as we enter the elevator. The doors close, and it's there, the weird electrical attraction crackling between us, enslaving me. I close my eyes in a vain attempt to ignore it. She tightens her grip on my hand, and five seconds later the doors open on to the roof of the building. And there it is, a white helicopter with the name Mills Enterprises Holdings Inc. written in blue with the company logo on the side. _Surely this is misuse of Company property._

She leads me to a small office where an old timer sits behind the desk.

"Here's your flight plan, Mrs. Mills. All external checks are done. It's ready and waiting mam. You're free to go."

"Thank you, Joe." Regina smiles warmly at him.

Oh. Someone deserving of the polite treatment from Regina, perhaps he's not an employee. I stare at the old guy in awe.

"Let's go," Regina says, and we make our way toward the helicopter. When we're up close, it's much bigger than I thought. I expected it to be a roadster version for two, but it has at least seven seats. Regina opens the door and directs me to one of the seats at the very front.

"Sit – don't touch anything," she orders as she clambers in behind me.

She shuts the door with a slam. I'm glad that the area is floodlit, otherwise I'd find it difficult to see inside the small cockpit. I sit down in my allotted seat, and she crouches beside me to strap me into the harness. It's a four-point harness with all the straps connecting to one central buckle. She tightens both of the upper straps, so I can hardly move. She's so close and intent on what she's doing. If I could only lean forward, my nose would be in her hair. She smells, clean, fresh, heavenly like apples, but I'm fastened securely into my seat and effectively immobile. She glances up and smiles, like she's enjoying her usual private joke, her brown eyes heated. She's so tantalizingly close. I hold my breath as she pulls at one of the upper straps.

"You're secure, no escaping," she whispers, her eyes are scorching. "Breathe, Emma," she adds softly. Reaching up, she caresses my cheek, running her fingers down to my chin which she grasps between her thumb and forefinger. She leans forward and plants a brief, chaste kiss on my lips, leaving me reeling, my insides clenching at the thrilling, unexpected touch of her lips.

"I like this harness," she whispers.

_What?_

She sits down beside me and buckles herself into her seat, then begins a protracted procedure of checking gauges and flipping switches and buttons from the mind-boggling array of dials and lights and switches in front of me. Little lights wink and flash from various dials, and the whole of the instrument panel lights up. She is flying it? She is.

"Put your cans on," she says, pointing to a set of headphones in front of me. I pop them on, and the rotor blades start. They are deafening. She puts her headphones on and continues flipping various switches.

"I'm just going through all the pre-flight checks." Regina's disembodied voice is in my ears through the headphones. I turn and grin at her.

"Do you know what you are doing?" I ask. She turns and smiles at me.

"I've been a fully qualified pilot for four years. My dad taught me how to fly when I was younger, he said it didn't matter I was a girl, I needed to be prepare for everything, Emma, you're safe with me" Then she gives me a wolfish grin. "Well, while we're flying," she adds and winks at me.

_Winking... Regina!_

I wonder if she would teach me if I ask her, flying a helicopter seems pretty fun and cool.

"Are you ready?"  
I nod wide eyed.  
"Okay, tower. PDX this is Evil Queen Golf – Golf Echo Hotel, cleared for take-off.

Please confirm, over."  
"Evil Queen - you are clear. PDX to call, proceed to one four thousand, heading zero one zero, over. "

"Roger tower, Evil Queen set, over and out. Here we go," she adds to me, and the helicopter rises slowly and smoothly into the air.

Portland disappears in front us as we head into US airspace, though my stomach remains firmly in Oregon. Whoa! All the bright lights shrink until they are twinkling sweetly below us. It's like looking out from inside a fish bowl. Once we're higher, there really is nothing to see. It's pitch black, not even the moon to shed any light on our journey. How can he see where we're going?

"Eerie isn't it?" Regina's voice is in my ears.  
"How do you know you're going the right way?"  
"Here." She points her index finger at one of the gauges, and it shows an electronic compass. "This is an EC135 Eurocopter. One of the safest in its class. It's equipped for night flight." She glances and grins at me.

"There's a helipad on top of the building I live in. That's where we're heading."

Of course there's a helipad where she lives. I am so out of my league here. Her face is softly illuminated by the lights on the instrument panel. She's concentrating hard, and she's continually glancing at the various dials in front of her. I drink in her features from beneath my lashes. She has a beautiful profile. Straight nose, square jawed- defiantly square, which gives her a sharper, more intense look. Her cheekbones are prominently rounded– I'd like to run my tongue along her jaw. Hmm… And her lips, always so red, so nice, I would wear lipstick often, but it's too girly for me, but on her looks so damn good, I would like to kiss her and bite those lips, taste them.

"When you fly at night, you fly blind. You have to trust the instrumentation," she interrupts my erotic reverie.

"How long will the flight be?" I manage breathlessly. I wasn't thinking about sex at all, no, no way.

"Less than an hour, the wind is in our favor."  
_Hmm, less than an hour to Seattle_... that's not bad going, no wonder we're flying.  
I have less than an hour before the big reveal. All the muscles clench deep in my belly.

I have a serious case of butterflies. They are flourishing in my stomach. Holy shit, what has she got in store for me?

"You okay, Emma?"  
"Yes." My answer is short, clipped, squeezed out through my nerves.  
I think she smiles, but it's difficult to tell in the darkness. Regina flicks yet another switch.

"PDX this is Evil Queen now at one four thousand, over." She exchanges information with air traffic control. It all sounds very professional to me. I think we're moving from Portland's air space to Seattle International Airport's.

"Understood Sea-Tac, standing by over and out."

"Look, over there." She points to a small pin-point of light in the far distance. "That's Seattle."

"Do you always impress women this way? Come and fly in my helicopter?" I ask, genuinely interested.

"I've never bought a girl up here, Emma. It's another first for me." Her voice is quiet, serious.

Oh, that was an unexpected answer. Another first? Oh the sleeping thing, perhaps? Or going with a woman? "Are you impressed?"  
"I'm awed, Regina."  
She smiles.

"Awed?" And for a brief moment, she's her age again.  
I nod.  
"You're just so... competent."  
"Why, thank you, Miss Swan," she says politely. I think she's pleased, but I'm not sure. We ride into the dark night in silence for a while. The bright spot that is Seattle is slowly getting bigger.

"Sea-Tac tower to Evil Queen. Flight plan to Escala in place. Please proceed. And standby. Over."

"This is Evil Queen, understood Sea-Tac. Standing by, over and out."  
"You obviously enjoy this," I murmur.  
"What?" She glances at me. She looks quizzical in the half-light of the instruments. "Flying," I reply.

"It requires control and concentration... how could I not love it? Though, my favorite is soaring."

"Soaring?"  
"Yes. Gliding to the layperson. Gliders and helicopters – I fly them both."  
"Oh." _Expensive hobbies. _I remember her telling me during the interview, but never thought it would be her flying it them. I like reading and occasionally going to the movies. I am out of my depth here.

"Evil Queen come in please, over." The disembodied voice of air traffic control interrupts my reverie. Regina answers, sounding in control and confident.

Seattle is getting closer. We are on the very outskirts now. Wow! It looks absolutely stunning. Seattle at night, from the sky…"Looks good, doesn't it?" Regina murmurs.

I nod enthusiastically. It looks otherworldly – unreal – and I feel like I'm on a giant film set, José's favorite film maybe, '_Bladerunner.' _The memory of José's attempted kiss haunts me. I'm beginning to feel a bit cruel not calling him back. _He can wait until tomorrow... surely._

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Regina mutters, and suddenly my blood is pounding in my ears as my heartbeat accelerates and adrenaline spikes through my system. She starts talking to air traffic control again, but I am no longer listening. Oh my... I think I'm going to faint. My fate is in her hands.

We are now flying amongst the buildings, and up ahead I can see a tall skyscraper with a helipad on top. The word Escala is painted in white on top of the building. It's getting nearer and nearer, bigger and bigger... like my anxiety. _God, I hope I don't let her down. _She'll find me lacking in some way. I wish I'd listened to Ruby and borrowed one of her dresses, but I like my black jeans, and I'm wearing a soft mint green shirt and Ruby's black jacket. I look smart enough. I grip the edge of my seat tighter and tighter. _I can do this. I can do this. _I chant this mantra as the skyscraper looms below us.

The helicopter slows and hovers, and Regina sets it down on the helipad on top of the building. My heart is in my mouth. I can't decide if it's from nervous anticipation, relief that we've arrived alive, or fear that I will fail in some way. She switches the ignition off and the rotor blades slow and quiet until all I hear is the sound of my own erratic breathing. Regina takes her headphones off, and reaches across and pulls mine off too.

"We're here," she says softly.

Her look is so intense, half in shadow and half in the bright white light from the landing lights. Evil queen and Good queen it's a fitting metaphor for Regina. She looks strained. Her jaw is clenched and her eyes are tight. She unfastens her seatbelt and reaches over to unbuckle mine. Her face is inches from mine.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You know that don't you?" Her tone is so earnest, desperate even, her brown eyes impassioned. She takes me by surprise.

"I'd never do anything I didn't want to do, Regina." And as I say the words, I don't quite feel their conviction because at this moment in time – I'd probably do anything for this woman seated beside me. But this does the trick. She's mollified.

She eyes me warily for a moment and somehow, even though she's so petite, she manages to ease her way gracefully to the door of the helicopter and open it. She jumps out, waiting for me to follow, how in the world didn't she break her legs jumping with those heels?, and takes my hand as I clamber down on to the helipad. It's very windy on top of the building, and I'm nervous about the fact that I'm standing at least thirty stories high in an unenclosed space. Regina wraps her arm around my waist, pulling me tightly against her.

"Come," she shouts above the noise of the wind. She drags me over to an elevator shaft and, after tapping a number into a keypad, the doors open. It's warm inside and all mirrored glass. I can see Regina to infinity everywhere I look, and the wonderful thing is, she's holding me to infinity too. Regina taps another code into the keypad, then the doors close and the elevator descends.

Moments later, we're in an all-white foyer. In the middle is a round, dark wood table, and on it is an unbelievably huge bunch of white flowers. On the walls there are paintings, everywhere. She opens two double doors, and the white theme continues through the wide corridor and directly opposite where a palatial room opens up. It's the main living area, double height. Huge is too small a word for it. The far wall is glass and leads on to a balcony that overlooks Seattle.

To the right is an imposing 'U' shaped sofa that could sit ten adults comfortably. It faces a state-of-the-art stainless steel or maybe platinum for all I know modern fireplace. The fire is lit and flaming gently. On the left beside us, by the entryway, is the kitchen area. All white with dark wood worktops and a large breakfast bar which seats six.

Near the kitchen area, in front of the glass wall, is a dining table surrounded by sixteen chairs. And tucked in the corner is a full size, shiny black grand piano. Oh yes... she probably plays the piano too. There is art of all shapes and sizes on all the walls. In fact, this apartment looks more like a gallery than a place to live.

"Can I take your jacket?" Regina asks. I shake my head. I'm still cold from the wind on the helipad.

"Would you like a drink?" she asks. I blink at her. After last night! Is she trying to be funny? For one second, I think about asking for a beer – but I don't have the nerve.

"I'm going to have a glass of white wine, would you like to join me?"  
"Yes, please," I murmur.  
I am standing in this enormous room feeling out of place. I walk over to the glass wall, and I realize that the lower half of the wall opens concertina-style on to the balcony. Seattle is lit up and lively in the background. I walk back to the kitchen area – it takes a few seconds, it's so far from the glass wall and Regina is opening a bottle of wine. She's removed her blazer.

"Pouilly Fumé okay with you?"

"I know nothing about wine, Regina. I'm sure it will be fine." My voice is soft and hesitant. My heart is thumping. I want to run. This is seriously rich. Seriously over-the- top Bill Gates style wealthy. What am I doing here? You know very well what you're doing here - my subconscious sneers at me. Yes, I want to be in Regina Mills's bed.

"Here." She hands me a glass of wine. Even the glasses are rich... heavy, contemporary, crystal. I take a sip, and the wine is light, crisp, and delicious.

"You're very quiet, and you're not even blushing. In fact – I think this is the palest I've ever seen you, Emma," she murmurs. "Are you hungry?"

I shake my head. Not for food.  
"It's a very big place you have here."

"Big?"  
"Big."  
"It's big," she agrees, and her eyes glow with amusement. I take another sip of wine. "Do you play?" I point my chin at the piano.  
"Yes."  
"Well?"  
"Yes."  
"Of course you do. Is there anything you can't do well?"  
"Yes... a few things." She takes a sip of her wine. She doesn't take her eyes off me. I feel them following me as I turn and glance around this vast room. Room is the wrong word. It's not a room – it's a mission statement.

"Do you want to sit?"

I nod, and she takes my hand and leads me to the large off-white couch. As I sit, I'm struck by the fact that I feel like Tess Durbeyfield looking at the new house that belongs to the notorious Alec D'Urberville. The thought makes me smile.

"What's so amusing?" She sits down beside me, turning to face me. She rests her head on her right hand, her elbow propped on the back of the couch.

"Why did you give me Tess of the D'Urbervilles specifically?" I ask. Regina stares at me for a moment. I think she's surprised by my question.

"Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy."

"Is that the only reason?" Even I can hear the disappointment in my voice. Her mouth presses into a hard line.

"It seemed appropriate. I could hold you to some impossibly high ideal like Angel Clare or debase you completely like Alec D'Urberville," she murmurs, and her brown eyes flash dark and dangerous.

"If there are only two choices, I'll take the debasement." I whisper, gazing at her. My subconscious is staring at me in awe. She gasps.

"Emma, stop biting your lip, please. It's very distracting. You don't know what you're saying."

"That's why I'm here."  
She frowns.  
"Yes. Would you excuse me a moment?" She disappears through a wide doorway on the far side of the room. She's gone for a couple of minutes and returns with a document. "This is a non-disclosure agreement." She shrugs and has the grace to look a little embarrassed. "My lawyer insists on it." She hands it to me. I'm completely bemused. "If you're going for option two, debasement, you'll need to sign this."

"And if I don't want to sign anything?"  
"Then it's Angel Clare high ideals, well, for most of the book anyway."  
"What does this agreement mean?"  
"It means you cannot disclose anything about us. Anything, to anyone."  
I stare at her in disbelief. Holy shit. It's bad, really bad, and now I'm very curious to know.

"Okay. I'll sign." She hands me a pen.

"Aren't you even going to read it?"  
"No."  
She frowns.  
"Emma, you should always read anything you sign," she admonishes me. "Regina, what you fail to understand is that I wouldn't talk about us to anyone, anyway. Even Ruby. So it's immaterial whether I sign an agreement or not. If it means so much to you, or your lawyer... whom you obviously talk to, then fine. I'll sign."

She gazes down at me, and she nods gravely.  
"Fair point well made, Miss Swan."  
I lavishly sign on the dotted line of both copies and hand one back to her. Folding the other, I place it my purse and take a large swig of my wine. I'm sounding so much braver than I'm actually feeling.

"Does this mean you're going to make love to me tonight, Regina" _Holy shit. Did I just say that? I__'m glad I did anyways._Her mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly.

"No, Emmaa it doesn't. Firstly, I don't make love. I fuck... hard. Secondly, there's a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don't yet know what you're in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom."

My mouth drops open. Fuck hard! Holy shit, that sounds so... hot. But why are we looking at a playroom? I am mystified.

"You want to play on your Xbox?" I ask. She laughs, loudly.

"No, Emma, no Xbox, no Playstation. Come." She stands, holding out her hand. I let her lead me back out to the corridor. On the right of the double doors, where we came in, another door leads to a staircase. We go up to the second floor and turn right. Producing a key from her dressy pants pocket, she unlocks yet another door and takes a deep breath.

"You can leave anytime. The helicopter is on stand-by to take you whenever you want to go, you can stay the night and go home in the morning. It's fine whatever you decide."

"Just open the damn door, Regina."

She opens the door and stands back to let me in. I gaze at her once more. I so want to know what's in here. Taking a deep breath I walk in.

And it feels like I've time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.

Holy fuck.


	8. Chapter 8: Rules

**Hello lovelies, **

**I hope you are enjoying this exciting story. As we get further in with the story, the story gets a bit more steammy so be ready. Also leave comments and reviews. Good or bad they are taken in mind. Enjoy!**

**-XOXO Gab95Lin**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

The first thing I notice is the smell; leather, wood, polish with a faint citrus scent. It's very pleasant, and the lighting is soft, subtle. In fact, I can't see the source, but it's around the cornice in the room, emitting an ambient glow. The walls and ceiling are a deep, dark burgundy, giving a womb-like effect to the spacious room, and the floor is old, old varnished wood. There is a large wooden cross like an X fastened to the wall facing the door. It's made of high-polished mahogany, and there are restraining cuffs on each corner. Above it is an expansive iron grid suspended from the ceiling, eight-foot square at least, and from it hang all manner of ropes, chains, and glinting shackles. By the door, two long, polished, ornately carved poles, like spindles from a banister but longer, hang like curtain rods across the wall. From them swing a startling assortment of paddles, whips, riding crops, and funny-looking feathery implements.

Beside the door stands a substantial mahogany chest of drawers, each drawer slim as if designed to contain specimens in a crusty old museum. I wonder briefly what the drawers actually _do _hold. _Do I want to know? _In the far corner is an oxblood leather padded bench, and fixed to the wall beside it is a wooden, polished rack that looks like a pool or billiard cue holder, but on closer inspection, it holds canes of varying lengths and widths. There's a stout six-foot-long table in the opposite corner – polished wood with intricately carved legs – and two matching stools underneath.

But what dominates the room is a bed. It's bigger than king-size, an ornately carved rococo four-poster with a flat top. It looks late nineteenth century. Under the canopy, I can see more gleaming chains and cuffs. There is no bedding... just a mattress covered in red leather and red satin cushions piled at one end.

At the foot of the bed, set apart a few feet, is a large oxblood chesterfield couch, just stuck in the middle of the room facing the bed. An odd arrangement... to have a couch facing the bed, and I smile to myself – I've picked on the couch as odd, when really it's the most mundane piece of furniture in the room. I glance up and stare at the ceiling. There are karabiners all over the ceiling at odd intervals. I vaguely wonder what they're for. Weirdly, all the wood, dark walls, moody lighting, and oxblood leather makes the room kind of soft and romantic... I know it's anything but, this is Regina's version of soft and romantic.

I turn, and she's regarding me intently as I knew she would be, her expression completely unreadable. I walk further into the room, and she follows me. The feathery thing has me intrigued. I touch it hesitantly. It's suede, like a small cat-of-nine-tails but bushier, and there are very small plastic beads on the end.

"It's called a flogger," Regina's voice is quiet and soft.

_A flogger... hmm. _I think I'm in shock. My subconscious has emigrated or been struck dumb or simply keeled over and expired. I am numb. I can observe and absorb but not articulate my feelings about all this, because I'm in shock. What is the appropriate response to finding out a potential lover is a complete freaky sadist or masochist? _Fear_... yes... that seems to be the over-riding feeling. I recognize it now. But weirdly not of her – I don't think she'd hurt me, well, not without my consent. So many questions cloud my mind. Why? How? When? How often? Who? I walk toward the bed and run my hands down one of the intricately carved posts. The post is very sturdy, the craftsmanship outstanding.

"Say something," Regina commands, her voice deceptively soft.  
"Do you do this to people or do they do it to you?"  
Her mouth quirks up, either amused or relieved.  
"People?" She blinks a couple of times as she considers her answer. "I do this to women who want me to." I don't understand.

"If you have willing volunteers, why am I here?"  
"Because I want to do this with you, very much."  
"Oh," I gasp. _Why?  
_I wander to the far corner of the room and pat the waist high padded bench and run my fingers over the leather. _She likes to hurt women. _The thought depresses me. "You're a sadist?" And then it hits me, she's into women!

"I'm a Dominant." Her eyes are a scorching dark, intense.  
"What does that mean?" I whisper.

"It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in all things."  
I frown at her as I try to assimilate this idea.  
"Why would I do that?"  
"To please me," she whispers as she cocks her head to one side, and I see a ghost of a smile.

_Please her! She wants me to please her! _I think my mouth drops open. _Please Regina Mills. _And I realize, in that moment, that yes, that's exactly what I want to do. I want her to be damned delighted with me. It's a revelation. Me, Emma Swan wants to be fuck by Regina Mills.

"In very simple terms, I want you to want to please me," she says softly. Her voice is hypnotic.

"How do I do that?" My mouth is dry, and I wish I had more wine or just the guts. Okay, I understand the pleasing bit, but I am puzzled by the soft-boudoir-Elizabethan-torture set up. Do I want to know the answer?

"I have rules, and I want you to comply with them. They are for your benefit and for my pleasure. If you follow these rules to my satisfaction, I shall reward you. If you don't, I shall punish you, and you will learn," she whispers. I glance at the rack of canes as she says this_._

"And where does all this fit in?" I wave my hand in the general direction of the room. "It's all part of the incentive package. Both reward and punishment."  
"So you'll get your kicks by exerting your will over me."  
"It's about gaining your trust and your respect, so you'll let me exert my will over you. I will gain a great deal of pleasure, joy, even in your submission. The more you submit, the greater my joy – it's a very simple equation."

"Okay, and what do I get out of this?"  
She shrugs and looks almost apologetic.  
"Me," she says simply.  
_Oh my. _Regina rakes her hand through her hair as she gazes at me.  
"You're not giving anything away, Emma," she murmurs, exasperated. "Let's go back downstairs where I can concentrate better. It's very distracting having you in here." She holds her hand out to me, and now I'm hesitant to take it.

Ruby had said she was dangerous, she was so right. _How did she know? _She's dangerous to my health, because I know I'm going to say yes. And part of me doesn't want to. Part of me wants to run screaming from this room and all it represents. I am so out of my depth here.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Emma." Her brown eyes implore, and I know she speaks the truth. I take her hand, and she leads me out of the door.

"If you do this, let me show you." Rather than going back downstairs, she turns right out of the _playroom, _as she calls it, and down a corridor. We pass several doors until we reach the one at the end. Beyond it is a bedroom with a large double bed, all in white... everything, furniture, walls, bedding. It's sterile and cold but with the most glorious view of Seattle through the glass wall.

"This will be your room. You can decorate it how you like, have whatever you like in here."

"My room? You're expecting me to move in?" I can't hide the horror in my voice.

"Not full time. Just say, Friday evening through Sunday. We have to talk about all that, negotiate. If you want to do this," she adds, her voice quiet and hesitant.

"I'll sleep here?" "Yes."  
"Not with you."

"No. I told you, I don't sleep with anyone, except you, when you're stupefied with drink." Her eyes are reprimanding.

My mouth presses in a hard line. This is what I cannot reconcile. Kind, caring Regina, who rescues me from inebriation and holds me gently while I'm throwing up into the azaleas, and the monster who possesses whips and chains in a special room.

"Where do you sleep?"  
"My room is downstairs. Come, you must be hungry."  
"Weirdly, I seem to have lost my appetite," I murmur petulantly.  
"You must eat, Emma," she admonishes and, taking my hand, leads me back downstairs.

Back in the impossibly big room, I am filled with deep trepidation. I am on the edge of a precipice, and I have to decide whether or not to jump.

"I'm fully aware that this is a dark path I'm leading you down, Emma, which is why I really want you to think about this. You must have some questions," she says as she wanders into the kitchen area, releasing my hand.

_I do. But where to start?_

"You've signed your NDA, you can ask me anything you want, and I'll answer."

I stand at the breakfast bar watching her as she opens the refrigerator and pulls out a plate of different cheeses with two large bunches of green and red grapes. She sets the plate down on the worktop and proceeds to cut up a French baguette.

"Sit." She points to one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar, and I obey her command. If I'm going to do this, I'm going to have to get used to it, but a 'Sit please wouldn't hurt'. Is then when I realize she's been this bossy since I met her.

"You mentioned paperwork."  
"Yes."  
"What paperwork?"  
"Well, apart from the NDA, a contract saying what we will and won't do. I need to know your limits, and you need to know mine. This is consensual, Emma." "And if I don't want to do this?"

"That's fine," she says carefully.  
"But we won't have any sort of relationship?" I ask.

"No."  
"Why?"  
"This is the only sort of relationship I'm interesting in."  
"Why?"  
She shrugs.  
"It's the way I am."  
"How did you become this way?"  
"Why is anyone the way they are? That's kind of hard to answer. Why do some people like cheese and other people hate it? Do you like cheese? Mrs. Jones – my housekeeper – has left this for supper." She takes some large, white plates from a cupboard and places one in front of me.

_We're talking about cheese... Holy crap._

"What are your rules that I have to follow?"

"I have them written down. We'll go through them once we've eaten."

_Food. How can I eat now?_

"I'm really not hungry," I whisper.

"You will eat," she says simply. _Dominating Regina, it all becomes clear. _"Would you like another glass of wine?"

"Yes, please."  
She pours wine into my glass and comes to sit beside me. I take a hasty sip.  
"Help yourself to food, Emma."  
I take a small bunch of grapes. This I can manage. She narrows her eyes.  
"Have you been like this for a while?" I ask.  
"Yes."  
"Is it easy to find women who want to do this?"  
She raises an eyebrow at me.  
"You'd be amazed," she says dryly.  
"Then why me? I really don't understand."  
"Emma, I've told you. There's something about you. I can't leave you alone." She smiles ironically. "I'm like a moth to a flame." Her voice darkens. "I want you very badly, especially now, when you're biting your lip again." She takes a deep breath and swallows.

My stomach somersaults – she wants me... in a weird way, true, but this beautiful, strange, kinky woman wants me.

"I think you have that cliché the wrong way round." I grumble. I am the moth and she is the flame, and I'm going to get burnt. I know.

"Eat!"

"No. I haven't signed anything yet, so I think I'll hang on to my free will for a bit longer, if that's okay with you."

Her eyes soften, and her lips turn up in a smile.  
"As you wish, Miss Swan."  
"How many women?" I blurt out the question, but I'm so curious.  
"Fifteen."  
Oh... not as many as I thought.  
"For long periods of time?"  
"Some of them, yes."  
"Have you ever hurt anyone?"  
"Yes."  
_Holy shit.  
"_Badly?"  
"No."  
"Will you hurt me?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Physically, will you hurt me?"  
"I will punish you when you require it, and it will be painful."  
I think I feel a little faint. No! That's for weaks. I take another sip of wine. Alcohol - this will make me brave. "Have you ever been beaten?" I ask.  
"Yes."

Oh... that surprises me. Before I can question her on this revelation further, she interrupts my train of thought.

"Let's discuss this in my study. I want to show you something."

This is so hard to process. Here I was foolishly thinking that I'd spend a night of unparalleled passion in this woman's bed, and we're negotiating this weird arrangement.

I follow her into his study, a spacious room with another floor-to-ceiling window that opens out on to the balcony. She sits on the desk, motions for me to sit on a leather chair in front of her, and hands me a piece of paper.

"These are the rules. They may be subject to change. They form part of the contract, which you can also have. Read these rules and let's discuss."

_**RULES**_

_Obedience:_

_The Submissive will obey any instructions given by the Dominant immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant excepting those activities which are outlined in hard limits (Appendix 2). She will do so eagerly and without hesitation._

_Sleep:_

_The Submissive will ensure she achieves a minimum of seven hours sleep a night when she is not with the Dominant._

_Food:_

_The Submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and wellbeing from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit._

_Clothes:_

_During the Term, the Submissive will wear clothing only approved by the Dominant. The Dominant will provide a clothing budget for the Submissive, which the Submissive shall utilize. The Dominant shall accompany the Submissive to purchase clothing on an ad hoc basis. If the Dominant so requires, the Submissive shall during the Term any adornments the Dominant shall require, in the presence of the Dominant and any other time the Dominant deems fit._

_Exercise:_

_The Dominant shall provide the Submissive with a personal trainer four times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed between the personal trainer and the Sub- missive. The personal trainer will report to the Dominant on the Submissive's progress._

_Personal Hygiene/Beauty:_

_The Submissive will keep herself clean and shaved and/or waxed at all times. The Submissive will visit a beauty salon of the Dominant's choosing at times to be decided by the Dominant, and undergo whatever treatments the Dominant sees fit._

_Personal Safety:_

_The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs, or put herself in any unnecessary danger._

_Personal Qualities:_

_The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Domi- nant. The Submissive will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognize that her behavior is a direct reflection on the Dominant. She shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings, and misbehavior committed when not in the presence of the Dominant._

_Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by the Dominant._

_Holy fuck._

"Hard limits?" I ask.  
"Yes. What you won't do, what I won't do, we need to specify in our agreement." "I'm not sure about accepting money for clothes. It feels wrong." I shift uncomfortably, the word 'ho' rattling round my head.

"I want to lavish money on you, let me buy you some clothes. I may need you to accompany me to functions, and I want you dressed well. I'm sure your salary, when you do get a job, won't cover the kind of clothes I'd like you to wear."

"I don't have to wear them when I'm not with you?"  
"No."  
"Okay." Think of them as uniform.  
"I don't want to exercise four times a week."  
"Emma, I need you supple, strong, and with stamina. Trust me, you need to exercise."

"But surely not four times a week, how about three?"  
"I want you to do four."  
"I thought this was a negotiation?"  
She purses her lips at me.  
"Okay, Miss Swan, another point well made. How about an hour on three days and one day half an hour?"

"Three days, three hours. I get the impression you're going to keep me exercised when I'm here." Is not that I don't work out, but I hate being told when to do so.

She smiles wickedly, and her eyes glow as if relieved. "Yes, I am. Okay, agreed. Are you sure you don't want to intern at my company? You're a good negotiator."

* * *

"No, I don't think that's a good idea." I stare down at her rules. Waxing! Waxing what? Everything? Ugh.

"So, limits. These are mine." She hands me another piece of paper.

_**Hard Limits**_

_No acts involving fire play_  
_No acts involving urination or defecation and the products thereof No acts involving needles, knives, piercing, or blood_  
_No acts involving gynecological medical instruments_  
_No acts involving children or animals_  
_No acts that will leave any permanent marks on the skin_  
_No acts involving breath control_

Ugh. She has to write these down! Of course – they all look very sensible, and frankly, necessary... any sane person wouldn't want to be involved in this sort of thing surely? Though I now feel a little queasy.

"Is there anything you'd like to add?" she asks kindly.  
Crap. I've no idea. I am completely stumped. She gazes at me and furrows her brow. "Is there anything you won't do?"  
"I don't know."  
"What do you mean you don't know?"  
I squirm uncomfortably and bite my lip.  
"I've never done anything like this."  
"Well, when you've had sex, was there anything that you didn't like doing?"  
For the first time in what seems to be ages, I blush.  
"You can tell me, Emma. We have to be honest with each other or this isn't going to work."

I squirm uncomfortably again and stare at my knotted fingers.  
"Tell me," she commands.  
"Well... I've not had sex before, so I don't know." My voice is small. I peek up at her, and she's staring at me, mouth-open, frozen, and pale - really pale.

"Never?" she whispers. I shake my head.  
"You're a virgin?" she breathes. I nod, flushing again. She closes her eyes and looks to be counting to ten. When she opens them again, she's angry, glaring at me. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" she growls.

Regina is running both her hands through her hair and pacing up and down her study. Two hands – that's double exasperation and the sound of her heels against the marble floor. Her usual concrete control seems to have slipped a notch.

"I don't understand why you didn't tell me," she castigates me.

"The subject never came up. I'm not in the habit of revealing my sexual status to everyone I meet. I mean, we hardly know each other." I'm staring at my hands. Why am I feeling guilty? Why is she so mad? I peek up at her. This shouldn't be happening.

"Well, you know a lot more about me now," she snaps, her mouth presses into a hard line. "I knew you were inexperienced, but a virgin!" She says it like it's a really dirty word. "Hell, Emma, I just showed you," she groans. "May God forgive me. Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?"

"Of course I have." I try my best to look affronted. Okay... maybe twice.

"And a nice young man hasn't swept you off your feet? I just don't understand. You're twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You're beautiful." She runs her hand through her hair again. Beautiful. I flush with pleasure. Regina Mills thinks I'm beautiful. I knot my fingers together, staring at them hard, trying to conceal my goofy grin. Perhaps she's near-sighted,

my subconscious has reared her somnambulant head. Where was she when I needed her? "And you're seriously discussing what I want to do, when you have no experience."

Her brows knit together. "How have you avoided sex? Tell me, please."

I shrug.

"No one's really, you know." Come up to scratch, only you. And you turn out to be some kind of monster. "Why are you so angry with me?" I whisper.

"I'm not angry with you, I'm angry with myself. I just assumed... " She sighs. She regards me shrewdly and then shakes her head. "Do you want to go?" she asks, her voice gentle.

"No, unless you want me to go," I murmur. Oh no... I don't want to leave.

"Of course not. I like having you here." She frowns as she says this and then glances at her watch. "It's late." And she turns to look at me. "You're biting your lip." Her voice is husky, and she's eyeing me speculatively.

"Sorry."  
"Don't apologize. It's just that I want to bite it too, hard."  
I gasp... how can she say things like that to me and not expect me to be affected. "Come," she murmurs."  
"What?"  
"We're going to rectify the situation right now."  
"What do you mean? What situation?"  
"Your situation. Emma, I'm going to make love to you, now."

"Oh." The floor has fallen away. I'm a situation. I'm holding my breath.  
"That's if you want to, I mean, I don't want to push my luck."  
"I thought you didn't make love. I thought you fucked hard." I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.

She gives me a wicked grin, the effects of which travel all the way down there.  
"I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we'll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work, but you really need to have some idea what you're getting yourself into. We can start your training tonight – with the basics. This doesn't mean I've come over all hearts and flowers, it's a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do too." Her dark gaze is intense.

I flush... oh my... wishes do come true.

"But I haven't done all the things you require from your list of rules." My voice is all breathy, hesitant, I want her.

"Forget about the rules. Forget about all those details for tonight. I want you. I've wanted you since you fell into my office, and I know you want me. You wouldn't be sitting here calmly discussing punishment and hard limits if you didn't. Please, Emma, spend the night with me." She holds her hand out to me, her eyes are bright, fervent... excited, and I put my hand in her. She pulls me up and into her arms so I can feel the length of her body against mine, this swift action taking me by surprise. She runs her fingers round the nape of my neck, winds my ponytail around her wrist, and gently pulls so I'm forced to look at her. She gazes down at me.

"You are one brave young woman," she whispers. "I am in awe of you."

Her words are like some kind of incendiary device; my blood flames. She leans and kisses my lips gently, and she sucks at my lower lip.

"I want to bite this lip," she murmurs against my mouth, and carefully she tugs at it with her teeth. I moan, and she smiles.

"Please Emma, let me make love to you."

"Yes," I whisper, because that's why I'm here. Her smile is triumphant as she releases me and takes my hand and leads me through the apartment.

Her bedroom is vast. The ceiling height windows look out on a lit up, high-rise Seattle. The walls are white, and the furnishings are pale blue. The enormous bed is ultra-modern, made of rough, grey wood, like driftwood, four posts, but no canopy. On the wall above it is a stunning painting of the sea.

Iam quaking like a leaf or a feather. This is it. Finally, after all this time, I'm going to do it, with none other than Regina Mills. My breath is shallow, and I can't take my eyes off her. She removes her watch, necklace and earring, placing them on top of a chest of drawers that matches the bed, and removes her blazer, placing it on a chair. She's dresses in her white bottom up shirt and black dressy pants. She is heart-stoppingly beautiful. Her dark chocolate hair is perfect as usual, her shirt open with a fee top bottoms open, leaving some of her breast to be seen -her brown eyes bold and dazzling. She steps out of her high heels, leaving her just a few inches shorter than usual. Regina Mills's feet... wow.. what is it about naked feet? Turning, she gazes at me, her expression soft.

"I assume you're not on the pill."

What! Shit.

"I didn't think so. And you won't need it, I won't get you pregnant don't worry." She says chucking.

"Be prepared," she murmurs. "Do you want the blinds drawn?"  
"I don't mind." I whisper. "I thought you didn't let anyone sleep in your bed."  
"Who says we're going to sleep?" she murmurs softly.  
"Oh." Holy hell.


	9. Chapter 9: The Next Morning

**Hey ****loves, **

**I'm sorry for the delay to updated, but hey this chapter is longer than usual :). I took a bit longer because grandma is here from El Salvador and I have to spend some time her. I'm so amaze with the number of followers to this story, I didn't think it will get so many follows. So things are going to get a little smuchy now, so be ready. **

**As always please leave a review or anything. I added some Spanish to the story, so the meaning of it would be at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!**

**-XOXO Gab95Lin**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

* * *

She strolls slowly toward me. Confident, sexy, eyes blazing, and my heart begins to pound. My blood's pumping around my body. Desire, thick and hot, pools in my belly. She stands in front of me, staring down into my eyes. _She's so freaking hot._

"Let's get this jacket off, shall we?" she says softly, and takes hold of the lapels and gently slides my red jacket off my shoulders. She places it on the chair.

"Do you have any idea how much I want you, Emma Swan?" she whispers. My breath hitches. I cannot take my eyes off her. She reaches up and gently runs her fingers down my cheek to my chin.

"Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?" she adds, caressing my chin.

The muscles inside the deepest, darkest part of me clench in the most delicious fashion. The pain is so sweet and sharp I want to close my eyes, but I'm hypnotized by her brown eyes staring fervently into mine. Leaning down, she kisses me. Her lips are demanding, firm and slow, molding mine. She starts unbuttoning my shirt while she places feather-like kisses across my jaw, my chin, and the corners of my mouth. Slowly she peels it off me and lets it fall to the floor. She stands back and gazes at me. I'm in the pale blue lacy perfect-fit bra. _Thank heavens._

"Oh, Emma," she breathes. "You have the most beautiful skin, pale and flawless. I want to kiss every single inch of it."

I flush. _Oh my_... Why did she say she couldn't make love? I will do anything she wants. She grasps my hair tie, pulls it free, and gasps as my hair cascades down around my shoulders.

"I like blondes," she murmurs, and both of her hands are in my hair, grasping each side of my head. Her kiss is demanding, her tongue and lips coaxing mine. I moan, and my tongue tentatively meets her. She puts her arms around me and hauls me against her body, squeezing me tightly. One hand remains in my hair, the other travels down my spine to my waist and down to my behind. Her hand flexes over my backside and squeezes gently. She holds me against her hips, I can feel her body heat, demanding to get attention, she is wet.

I moan once more into her mouth. I can hardly contain the riotous feelings or is it hormones that rampage through my body. I want her so badly. Gripping her upper arms, I feel her biceps, she's surprisingly strong… fit, yet she looks so petite. Tentatively, I move my hands up to her face and into her hair. _Holy Moses. _It's so soft, unruly. I tug gently, and she groans. She eases me toward the bed, until I feel her hands behind my knees. I think she's going to push me down on to her, but she doesn't. Releasing me, she suddenly drops to her knees. She grabs my hips with both her hands and runs her tongue around my navel, then gently nips her way to my hipbone, then across my belly to my other hipbone.

"Ah," I groan.

Seeing her on her knees in front of me, feeling her mouth on me, it's so unexpected, and hot. My hands stay in her hair, pulling gently as I try to quiet my too-loud breathing. She gazes up at me through impossibly long lashes, her eyes a scorching smoky brown. Her hands reach up and undo the button on my jeans, and she leisurely pulls down the zipper. Without taking her eyes off mine, her hands move beneath the waistband, skimming me and moving to my behind. Her hands glide slowly down my backside to my thighs, removing my jeans as they go. I cannot look away. She stops and licks her lips, never breaking eye contact. She leans forward, running her nose up the apex between my thighs. I feel her. _There._

"You smell so good," she murmurs and closes her eyes, a look of pure pleasure on her face, and I practically convulse. She reaches up and tugs the duvet off the bed, then pushes me gently so I fall on to the mattress.

Still kneeling, she grasps my foot and undoes my Converse, pulling off my shoe and sock. I raise myself up on my elbows to see what she's doing. I'm panting... wanting. She lifts my foot by the heel and runs her thumbnail up my instep. It's almost painful, but I feel the movement echoed in my groin. I gasp. Not taking her eyes off mine, again she runs her tongue along my instep and then her teeth. _Shit. _I groan... how can I feel this, _there. _I fall back on to the bed, moaning. I hear her soft chuckle.

"Oh, Emma, lo que te podria hacer," she whispers in something that sounded that like spanish. She removes my other shoe and sock, then stands and removes my jeans. I'm lying on her bed dressed only in my bra and panties, and she's staring down at me.

"You're very beautiful, Emma Swan. I can't wait to be inside you." _Holy shit. _Her words. She's so seductive. She takes my breath away. "Show me how you pleasure yourself."  
_What? _I frown.

"Don't be coy, Emma, show me," she whispers.  
I shake my head.  
"I don't know what you mean." My voice is hoarse. I hardly recognize it, laced with desire.

"How do you make yourself come? I want to see."  
I shake my head.  
"I don't," I mumble. She raises her eyebrows, astonished for a moment, and her eyes darken, and she shakes her head in disbelief.

"Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that." Her voice is soft, challenging, a delicious sensual threat. She undoes the buttons of her pants and slowly pulls her pants down, her eyes on mine the whole time. She leans down over me and, grasping each of my ankles, quickly jerks my legs apart and crawls onto the bed between my legs. She hovers over me. I am squirming with need.

"Keep still," she murmurs, and then she leans down and kisses the inside of my thigh, trailing kisses up, over the thin lacy material of my panties, kissing me.

Oh... I can't keep still. How can I not move? I wriggle beneath her.

"We're going to have to work on keeping you still, baby." She trails kisses up my belly, and her tongue dips into my navel. Still she's heading north, kissing me across my torso. My skin is burning. I'm flushed, too hot, too cold, and I'm clawing at the sheet beneath me. She lay down beside me, and her hand trails up from my hip, to my waist, and up to my breast. She gazes down at me, her expression unreadable, and gently cups my breast.

"You fit my hand perfectly, Emma," she murmurs and dips her index finger into the cup of my bra and gently yanks it down freeing my breast, but the under wire and fabric of the cup force it upward. Her finger moves to my other breast and repeats the process. My breasts swell, and my nipples harden under her steady gaze. I am trussed-up by my own bra.

"Very nice," she whispers appreciatively, and my nipples harden even more.

She blows very gently on one as her hand moves to my other breast, and her thumb slowly rolls the end of my nipple, elongating it. I groan, feeling the sweet sensation all the way to my groin. I am so wet_. Oh please, _I beg internally as my fingers clasp the sheet tighter. Her lips close around my other nipple and she tugs, I nearly convulse.

"Let's see if we can make you come like this," she whispers, continuing her slow, sensual assault. My nipples bear the delicious brunt of her deft fingers and lips, setting alight every single nerve ending in my body so that my whole body sings with the sweet agony. She just doesn't stop.

"Oh... please," I beg, and I pull my head back, my mouth open as I groan, my legs stiffening. Holy hell, what's happening to me? Why am I begin so much?

"Let go, baby," she murmurs. Her teeth close round my nipple, and her thumb and finger pull hard, and I fall apart in her hands, my body convulsing and shattering into a thousand pieces. She kisses me, deeply, her tongue in my mouth absorbing my cries.

_Oh my. _That was extraordinary. Now I know what all the fuss is about. She gazes down at me, a satisfied smile on her face, while I'm sure there's nothing but gratitude and awe on mine.

"You are very responsive," she breathes. "You're going to have to learn to control that, and it's going to be so much fun teaching you how." She kisses me again.

My breathing is still ragged as I come down from my orgasm. Her hand moves down my waist, to my hips, and then cups me, intimately... _Jeez. _Her finger slips through the fine lace and slowly circles around me – _there. _Briefly she closes her eyes, and her breathing hitches.

"You're so deliciously wet. God, I want you." She thrusts her finger inside me, and I cry out as she does it again and again. She palms my clitoris, and I cry out once more. She pushes inside me harder and harder still. I groan.

Suddenly, she sits up and tugs my panties off and throws them on the floor. Pulling off her own panties, she is as wet as I am. _Holy cow_... She moves between my legs, spreading them further apart. She kneels and her hand is in front of my sex. _Oh no...Will it? How?_

"Don't worry," she breathes, her eyes on mine once again. She leans down, her free hand on side of my leg, so she's on top and inside me, her jaw clenched. It's only now that I register she's still wearing her shirt.

"You really want to do this?" she asks softly.  
"Please," I beg.  
"Pull your knees up," she orders softly, and I'm quick to obey. "I'm going to fuck you now, Miss Swan," she murmurs as she positions her two fingers at the entrance of my sex. "Hard," she whispers, and she slams into me.

"Aargh!" I cry as I feel a weird pinching sensation deep inside me as she rips through my virginity. She stills, gazing up at me, her eyes bright with ecstatic triumph.

Her breathing is harsh. She groans.  
"You're so tight. You okay?"  
I nod, my eyes wide, my hands on her arms. I feel so full. She stays still, letting me acclimatize to the intrusive, overwhelming feeling of her inside me.

"I'm going to move, baby," She breathes after a moment, her voice tight.  
_Oh.  
_She eases back with exquisite slowness. And she closes her eyes and groans, and thrusts into me again. I cry out a second time, and she stills.

"More?" she whispers, her voice raw.  
"Yes," I breathe. She does it once more, and stills again.  
I groan. My body accepting her... Oh, I want this.  
"Again?" she breathes.  
"Yes." It's a plea.  
And she moves, but this time she doesn't stop. She shifts onto her elbow so I can feel her weight on me, holding me down. She moves slowly at first, easing her hand in and out of me. And as I grow accustomed to the alien feeling, my hips move tentatively to meet her. She speeds up. I moan, and she pounds on, picking up speed, merciless, a relentless rhythm, and I keep up, meeting her fingers. She grasps my head in her hand and kisses me hard, her teeth pulling at my lower lip again. She shifts slightly, and I can feel something building deep inside me, like before. I start to stiffen as she thrusts on and on. My body quivers, bows, a sheen of sweat gathers over me_. Oh my_... I didn't know it would feel like this... didn't know it could feel as good as this. My thoughts are scattering... there's only sensation... only her... only me... oh please... I stiffen.

"Come for me, Emma," she whispers breathlessly, and I unravel at her words, exploding around her as I climax and splinter into a million pieces underneath her. And as she comes, she calls out my name, thrusting hard, then stilling as she empties herself into me.

I am still panting, trying to slow my breathing, my thumping heart, and my thoughts are in riotous disarray. _Wow... that was astounding. _I open my eyes, and she has her forehead pressed against mine, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged. Regina's eyes flicker open and gaze down at me, dark but soft. Her hand is still inside me. Leaning down, she gently presses a kiss against my forehead then slowly pulls out of me.

"Ooh." I wince at the unfamiliarity.

"Did I hurt you?" Regina asks as she lies down beside me propped on one elbow. She tucks a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. And I have to grin, widely.

"_You _are asking me if you hurt me?"

"The irony is not lost on me," she smiles sardonically. "Seriously, are you okay?" Her eyes are intense, probing, demanding even.

I stretch out beside her, feeling loose-limbed, my bones like jelly, but I'm relaxed, deeply relaxed. I grin at her. I can't stop grinning. Now I know what all the fuss is about. Two orgasms... coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow. I had no idea what my body was capable of, could be wound so tightly and released so violently, so gratifyingly. The pleasure was indescribable.

"You're biting your lip, and you haven't answered me." She's frowning. I grin up at her impishly. She looks glorious with her tousled hair, burning narrowed brown eyes, and serious, dark expression.

"I'd like to do that again," I whisper. For a moment, I think I see a fleeting look of relief on her face, before the shutters come down, and she gazes at me through hooded eyes. "Would you now, Miss Swan?" she murmurs dryly. She leans down and kisses me very gently at the corner of my mouth. "Demanding little thing aren't you. Turn on your front." I blink at her momentarily, and then I turn over. She unhooks my bra and runs her hand down my back to my behind.

"You really have the most beautiful skin," she murmurs. She shifts so that one of her legs pushes between mine, and she's half lying across my back. I can feel the buttons of her shirt pressing into me as she gathers my hair off my face and kisses my bare shoulder.

"Why are you wearing your shirt?" I ask. She stills. After a beat, she shuffles out of her shirt, and she lies back down on me. I feel her warm skin against mine, still wearing a bra. _Hmm_… but just this, it feels heavenly.

"So you want me to fuck you again?" she whispers in my ear, and she begins to trail feather light kisses around my ear and down my neck.

Her hand moves down, skimming my waist, over my hip, and down my thigh to the back of my knee. She pushes my knee up higher, and my breath hitches... _oh my, what's she doing now? Sh_e shifts so she's between my legs, pressed against my back, and her hand travels up my thigh to my behind. She caresses my cheek slowly, and then trails her fingers down between my legs.

"I'm going to take you from behind, Emma," she murmurs, and with her other hand, she grasps my hair at the nape in a fist and pulls gently, holding me in place. I cannot move my head. I am pinioned beneath her, helpless.

"You are mine," she whispers. "Only mine. Don't forget it." Her voice is intoxicating, her words heady, seductive. I can feel the heat from her sex against my thigh.

Her fingers reach round to gently massage my clitoris, circling slowly. Her breath is soft against my face as she slowly nips me along my jaw.

"You smell divine," she nuzzles behind my ear. Her hand rubs against me, round and round. Reflexively, my hips start to circle, mirroring her hand, as excruciating pleasure spikes through my blood like adrenaline.

"Keep still," she orders, her voice soft but urgent, and slowly she inserts her thumb inside me, rotating it round and round, stroking the front wall of my vagina. The effect is mind-blowing all my energy concentrating on this one small space inside my body. I moan.

"Te gusta?" she asks softly, her teeth grazing my outer ear, and she starts to flex her thumb slowly, in, out, in, out… her fingers still circling.

I close my eyes, trying to keep my breathing under control, trying to absorb the disordered, chaotic sensations that her fingers are unleashing on me, fire coursing through my body. I moan again.

"You're so wet, so quickly. So responsive. Oh, Emma, I like that. I like that a lot," she whispers.

I want to stiffen my legs, but I can't move. She's pinning me down, keeping up a constant, slow, tortuous rhythm. It's absolutely exquisite. I moan again, and she moves suddenly.

"Open your mouth," she commands and thrusts her thumb in my mouth. My eyes fly open, blinking wildly.

"See how you taste," she breathes against my ear. "Suck me, baby." Her thumb presses on my tongue, and my mouth closes round her, sucking wildly. I taste the saltiness on her thumb and the faint metallic tang of blood_. Holy fuck. _This is wrong, but holy hell is it erotic.

"I want to fuck me with your mouth, Emma, and you will soon," her voice is hoarse, raw, her breathing more disjointed.

_Fuck my mouth! _I moan, and I bite down on her. She gasps, and she pulls my hair tighter, painfully, so I release her.

"Naughty, sweet girl," she whispers. "Stay still, don't move," she orders as she releases my hair.

I'm breathing hard, my blood singing in my veins. The anticipation is exhilarating. She leans down, her weight on me again, and she grabs my hair holding my head immobile. I cannot move. I'm enticingly ensnared by her, and she's poised and ready to take me once more.

"We're going to go real, slow this time, Emma," she breathes.

And slowly she eases into me, slowly, slowly, until her fingers are buried in me. Stretching, filling, relentless. I groan loudly. It feels deeper this time, delectable. I groan again, and she deliberately circles her hand and pulls back, pauses a beat, and then eases her way back in. She repeats this motion again and again. It's driving me insane – her teasing, deliberately slow thrusts, and the intermittent feeling of fullness is overwhelming.

"You feel so good," she groans, and my insides start to quiver. She pulls back and waits. "Oh no, baby, not yet," she murmurs, and as the quivering ceases, she starts the whole delicious process again.

"Oh, please," I beg. I'm not sure I can take much more. My body is wound so tight, craving release.

"I want you sore, baby," she murmurs, and she continues her sweet, leisurely torment, backward, forward.

"Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I've been here. Only me. You are mine."

I groan.  
"Please, Regina," I whisper.  
"What do you want, Emma? Tell me."  
I groan again. She pulls out and moves slowly back into me, circling her hand once more.

"Tell me," she murmurs.  
"You, please."  
She increases the rhythm infinitesimally, and her breathing becomes more erratic. My insides start quickening, and Regina picks up the rhythm.

"You. Are. So. Sweet," she murmurs between each thrust. "I. Want. You. So. Much." I moan.  
"You. Are. Mine. Come for me, baby," she growls.  
Her words are my undoing, tipping me over the precipice. My body convulses around her hand, and I come, loudly calling out a garbled version of her name into the mattress, and Regina follows with two sharp thrusts, and she freezes, pouring herself into me as she finds her release. She collapses on top of me, her face in my hair. How can this happen, I have;t touch her in this way yet.

"Fuck. Emma," she breathes. She pulls out of me immediately and rolls onto her side of the bed. I pull my knees up to my chest, utterly spent, and immediately drift off or pass out into an exhausted sleep.

When I wake, it's still dark. I have no idea how long I've slept. I stretch out beneath the duvet, and I feel sore, deliciously sore. Regina is nowhere to be seen. I sit up, staring out at the cityscape in front of me. There are fewer lights on amongst the skyscrapers, and there's a whisper of dawn in the east. I hear the music. The lilting notes of the piano, a sad, sweet lament. Bach, I think, but I'm not sure.

I wrap the duvet round me and quietly pad down the corridor toward the big room. Regina is at the piano, completely lost in the music she's playing. Her expression is sad and forlorn, like the music. Her playing is stunning. Leaning against the wall at the entrance, I listen enraptured. She's such an accomplished musician. She sits naked, her body bathed in the warm light cast by a solitary freestanding lamp beside the piano. With the rest of the large room in darkness, it's like she's in his own isolated little pool of light, untouchable... lonely, in a bubble.

I pad quietly toward her, enticed by the sublime, melancholy music. I'm mesmerized watching her skilled fingers as they find and gently press the keys, thinking how those same fingers have expertly handled and caressed my body. I flush and gasp at the memory and press my thighs together. She glances up, her unfathomable brown eyes bright, her expression unreadable.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I didn't mean to disturb you."  
A frown flits across her face.  
"Surely, I should be saying that to you," she murmurs. She finishes playing and puts her hands on her wonderfully legs.

I notice now that she's wearing a night gown. She runs her fingers through her hair and stands.

Her gown was so tin that didn't let anything to imagine, she look in a way that… _oh my. _My mouth goes dry as she casually strolls around the piano toward me. Her shoulders showing, her hips moving side to side with a beautiful sway as she walks. She really is stunning.

"You should be in bed," she admonishes.  
"That was a beautiful piece. Bach?"  
"Transcription by Bach, but it's originally an oboe concerto by Alessandro Marcello." "It was exquisite, but very sad, such a melancholy melody."  
Her lips quirk up in a half smile.  
"Bed," she orders. "You'll be exhausted in the morning."  
"I woke and you weren't there."  
"I find it difficult to sleep, and I'm not used to sleeping with anyone," she murmurs. I can't fathom her mood. She seems a little despondent, but it's difficult to tell in the darkness. Perhaps it was the tone of the piece she was playing. She puts her arm around me and gently walks me back to the bedroom.

"How long have you been playing? You play beautifully."  
"Since I was six."  
"Oh." Regina as a six-year-old girl… my mind conjures an image of a beautiful, chocolate-haired little girl with brown eyes and my heart melts – a moppet-haired kid who likes impossibly sad music.

"How are you feeling?" she asks when we are back in the room. She switches on a sidelight.

"I'm good."

We both glance down at the bed at the same time. There's blood on the sheets – evidence of my lost virginity. I flush, embarrassed, pulling the duvet tighter around me.

"Well, that's going to give Mrs. Jones something to think about," Regina mutters as she stands in front of me. She puts her hand under my chin and tips my head back, staring down at me. Her eyes are intense as she examines my face. I realize that I've not seen her naked shoulders before. Instinctively, I reach out to run my fingers through the line of her collar bones. Immediately, she steps back out of my reach.

"Get into bed," she says sharply. "I'll come and lie down with you." Her voice softens. I drop my hand and frown. I don't think I've ever touched her torso. She opens a chest of drawers and pulls out a t-shirt and quickly slips it on.

"Bed," she orders again. I climb back onto the bed, trying not to think about the blood. She clambers in beside me and pulls me into her embrace, wrapping her arms around me so that I'm facing away from her. She kisses my hair gently, and she inhales deeply.

"Sleep, sweet Emma," she murmurs, and I close my eyes, but I can't help feel a residual melancholy either from the music or her demeanor. Regina Mills has a sad side.

* * *

Light fills the room, coaxing me from deep sleep to wakefulness. I stretch out and open my eyes. It's a beautiful May morning, Seattle at my feet. Wow, what a view. Beside me, Regina Mills is fast asleep. Wow, what a view. I'm surprised she's still in bed. She's facing me, and I have an unprecedented opportunity to study her. Her lovely face looks younger, relaxed in sleep. Her sculptured, pouty lips are parted slightly, and her shiny, clean hair is a glorious mess. How could anyone look this good and still be legal? I remember her room upstairs... perhaps she's not legal. I shake my head, so much to think about. It's tempting to reach out and touch her, but like a small child, she's so lovely when she's asleep. I don't have to worry about what I'm saying, what she's saying, what plans she has, especially her plans for me.

I could gaze at her all day, but I have needs – bathroom needs. Slipping out of bed, I find her white shirt on the floor and shrug it on. I walk through a door thinking that it might be the bathroom, but I'm in a vast walk-in closet as big as my bedroom. Lines and lines of expensive pants, skirts, shirts, dresses, shoes, and even ties. How can anyone need this many clothes? I tut with disapproval. Actually, Ruby's wardrobe probably rivals this. Ruby! _Oh no. _I didn't think about her all evening. I was supposed to text her. Crap. I'm going to be in trouble. I wonder briefly how she's getting on with Belle.

Returning to the bedroom, Regina is still asleep. I try the other door. It's the bathroom, and it's bigger than my bedroom. Why does one man need so much space? Two sinks, I notice with irony. Given she doesn't sleep with anyone, one of them can't have been used.

I stare at myself in the gigantic mirror above the sinks. Do I look different? I feel different. I feel a little sore, if I'm honest, and my muscles - jeez it's like I've never done any exercise in my life. _You haven__'__t __done any exercise in weeks, _my subconscious has woken. She's staring at me with pursed lips, tapping her foot. So you've just slept with her, given her your virginity, a woman who doesn't love you. In fact, she has very odd ideas about you, wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.

_ARE YOU CRAZY? _She's shouting at me.

I wince as I look in the mirror. I am going to have to process all this. Honestly, fancy falling for a woman who's beyond beautiful, richer than Croesus, and has a Red Room of Pain waiting for me. I shudder. I'm bewildered and confused. My hair is its usual wayward self. Just-fucked hair doesn't suit me. I try and bring order to the chaos with my fingers but fail miserably and give up – maybe I'll find hair ties in my purse.

I'm starving. I head back out to the bedroom. Sleeping beauty is still sleeping, so I leave her and head for the kitchen.

_Oh no... Ruby. _I left my purse in Regina's study. I fetch it and reach for my cell phone. Three texts.

***RU OK Emma* **

***Where RU Em* **

***Damn it Emma***

I call Ruby. When she doesn't answer, I leave her a groveling message to tell her I am alive and have not succumbed to Bluebeard, well not in the sense she would be worried about –_or perhaps I have. _Oh this is so confusing. I have to try and categorize and analyze my feelings for Regina Mills. It's an impossible task. I shake my head in defeat. I need alone time, away from here to think.

I find two welcome hair ties at the same time in my bag and quickly tie my hair in pigtails. Yes! The more girly I look, perhaps the safer I'll be from Bluebeard. I take my iPod out of the bag and plug my headphones in. There's nothing like music to cook by. I slip it into the breast pocket of Regina's shirt, turn it up loud, and start dancing.

Holy hell, I'm hungry.

I am daunted by her kitchen. It's so sleek and modern and none of the cupboards have handles. It takes me a few seconds to deduce that I have to push the cupboard doors to open them. Perhaps I should cook Regina breakfast. She was eating an omelet the other day... um, yesterday at the Heathman. Jeez, so much has happened since then. I check in the fridge, where there are plenty of eggs, and decide I want pancakes and bacon. I set about making some batter, dancing my way round the kitchen.

Being busy is good. It allows a bit of time to think but not too deeply. Music blaring in my ears also helps to stave off deep thought. I came here to spend the night in Regina Mills's bed, and managed it, even though she doesn't let anyone in her bed. I smile, mission accomplished. Big time. I grin. Big, big time, and I'm distracted by the memory of last night. Her words, her body, her lovemaking... I close my eyes as my body hums at the recollection, and my muscles contract deliciously deep in my belly. My subconscious scowls at me... _fucking _– _not lovemaking _– she screams at me like a harpy_. _I ignore her, but deep down I know she has a point. I shake my head to concentrate on the task at hand.

There is a state-of-the-art range. I think I have the hang of it. I need somewhere to keep the pancakes warm, and I start on the bacon. Amy Studt is singing in my ear about misfits. This song used to mean so much to me, that's because I'm a misfit. I have never fitted in anywhere and now... I have an indecent proposal to consider from Queen Misfit herself. Why is she this way? Nature or Nurture? It's so alien to anything I know.

I put the bacon under the grill, and while it's cooking, I whisk some eggs. I turn, and Regina is sitting on one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar, leaning on it, her face supported by her steepled hands. She's still wearing the night gown she slept in. Just fucked hair really, really suits her, as does her designer stubble. She looks both amused and bewildered. I freeze, flush, then gather myself and pull the headphones out of my ears, my knees weak at the sight of her.

"Good morning, Miss Swan. You're very energetic this morning," she says dryly. "I slept well," I stutter my explanation. Her lips try to mask her smile.  
"I can't imagine why." She pauses and frowns. "So did I, after I came back to bed." "Are you hungry?"

"Very," she says with an intense look, and I don't think she's referring to food. "Pancakes, bacon, and eggs?"  
"Sounds great."  
"I don't know where you keep your placemats." I shrug, trying desperately hard not to look flustered.

"I'll do that. You cook. Would you like me to put some music on so you can continue your… err... dancing?"

I stare down at my fingers, knowing that I am turning puce.  
"Please, don't stop on my account. It's very entertaining." Her tone is one of wry amusement.

I purse my lips. Entertaining eh? My subconscious has doubled over in laughter at me.

I turn and continue to whisk the eggs, probably beating them a little harder than they need. In a moment, she's beside me. She gently pulls my pigtail.

"I love these," she whispers. "They won't protect you." _Hmm Bluebeard...  
_"How would you like your eggs?" I ask tartly. She smiles.  
"Thoroughly whisked and beaten," she smirks.  
I turn back to the task at hand, trying to hide my smile. She's hard to stay mad at. Especially when she's being so uncharacteristically playful. She opens a drawer and takes out two black slate placemats for the breakfast bar. I pour the egg mix into a pan, pull out the bacon and turn it over, and put it back under the grill.

When I turn back round, there is orange juice on the table, and she's making coffee. "Would you like some hot cocoa?"  
"Yes, please. If you have some."  
I find a couple of plates and place them in the warming tray of the range. Regina reaches into a cupboard and pulls out some Twining's English Breakfast tea. I purse my lips.

"Bit of a foregone conclusion wasn't I?"  
"Are you? I'm not sure we've concluded anything yet, Miss Swan," she murmurs. _What does she mean by that? Our negotiations? Our, err__… __relationship__… __whatever that __is? _She's still so cryptic. I serve up the breakfast onto the heated plates and lay them on the placemats. I hunt in the refrigerator and find some maple syrup.

I glance up at Regina, and she's waiting for me to sit down.  
"Miss Swan." She motions to one of the bar stools.  
"Mrs. Mills." I nod in acknowledgement. I climb up and wince slightly as I sit down. "Just how sore are you?" she asks as she sits down. Her brown eyes dark.  
I flush. _Why does she ask such personal questions?  
_"Well, to be truthful, I have nothing to compare this to," I snap at her. "Did you wish to offer your commiserations?" I ask too sweetly. I think she's trying to stifle a smile, but I can't be sure.

"No. I wondered if we should continue your basic training."

"Oh." I stare at her dumbfounded as I stop breathing and everything inside me clenches tight. _Ooh... that's so nice. _I suppress my groan.

"Eat, Emma." My appetite has become uncertain again... more... more sex... yes please.

"This is delicious, incidentally." She grins at me.

I try a forkful of omelet but can barely taste it. Basic training! _I want to fuck your mouth._Does that form part of basic training?

"Stop biting your lip. It's very distracting, and I happen to know you're not wearing, but your panties under my shirt which makes it even more distracting," she growls.

I dunk my teabag in the small pot that Regina has provided. My mind is in a whirl.

"What sort of basic training did you have in mind?" I ask, my voice slightly too high, betraying my wish to sound as natural, disinterested, and calm as I can with my hormones wreaking havoc through my body.

"Well, as you're sore, I thought we could stick to oral skills."

I choke on my tea, and I stare at her, eyes wide and gaping. She pats me gently on the back and passes me some orange juice. I cannot tell what she's thinking.

"That's if you want to stay," she adds. I glance up at her, trying to recover my equilibrium. Her expression is unreadable. It's so frustrating.

"I'd like to stay for today. If that's okay. I have to work tomorrow." "What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?"  
"Nine."  
"I'll get you to work by nine tomorrow."

I frown. _Does she want me to stay another night?  
_"I'll need to go home tonight – I need clean clothes."  
"We can get you some here."  
I don't have spare cash to spend on clothes. Her hand comes up, and she grasps my chin, tugging it so my lip is released from the grip of my teeth. I'm not even aware I've been biting my lip.

"What is it?" she asks.  
"I need to be home this evening."

Her mouth is a hard line.  
"Okay, this evening," she acquiesces. "Now eat your breakfast."  
My thoughts and my stomach are in turmoil. My appetite has vanished. I stare at my half-eaten breakfast. I'm just not hungry.

"Eat, Emma. You didn't eat last night."  
"I'm really not hungry," I whisper.

Her eyes narrow.

* * *

***Oh Emma, lo que te ****podría hacer {Oh Emma, what I could do to you.**

***Te gusta {You like it?**

**We'll see Regina speak more Spanish as the story continues. **


	10. Chapter 10: Say Yes

**Hi guys!**

**I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter, but grandma came to visit and you know, family before anything. But here it is. Hope you enjoy it! As always please leave reviews, comments! I love reading them :) **

**XOXO -Gab95Lin**

* * *

"I would really like you to finish your breakfast."  
"What is it with you and food?" I blurt. Her brow knits.  
"I told you, I have issues with wasted food. Eat," she snaps. Her eyes are dark, pained. _Holy Crap. What is that all about? _I pick up my fork and eat slowly, trying to chew.

I must remember not to put so much on my plate if she's going to be weird about food. Her expression softens as I carefully make my way through my breakfast. I note that she cleans her plate. She waits for me to finish, and then she clears my plate.

"You cooked, I'll clear."  
"That's very democratic."  
"Yes." She frowns. "Not my usual style. After I've done this, we'll take a bath."  
"Oh, okay." _Oh my... I'd much rather have a shower. _My cell rings, interrupting myreverie. It's Ruby.

"Hi." I wander over to the glass doors of the balcony, away from her.  
"Emma, why didn't you text last night?" She's angry.  
"I'm sorry, I was overtaken by events."  
"You're okay?"  
"Yes, I'm fine."  
"Did you?" She's fishing for information. I roll my eyes at the expectation in her voice. "Ruby, I don't want to talk over the phone." Regina glances up at me.  
"You did... I can tell."  
How can she tell? She's bluffing, and I can't talk about this. I've signed a damned agreement.

"Ruby, please."

"What was it like? Are you okay?"  
"I've told you I'm okay."  
"Was she gentle?"  
"Ruby, please!" I can't hide my exasperation.  
"Emma, don't hold out on me, I've been waiting for this day for nearly four years." "I'll see you this evening." I hang up.

That is going to be one difficult square to circle. She's so tenacious, and she wants to know – in detail, and I can't tell her because I've signed a – what was it called? NDA. She'll freak and rightly so. I need a plan. I head back to watch Regina move gracefully around her kitchen.

"The NDA, does it cover everything?" I ask tentatively.  
"Why?" she turns and gazes at me while putting the Twinings away. I flush.  
"Well, I have a few questions, you know, about sex." I stare down at my fingers. "AndI'd like to ask Ruby."

"You can ask me."

"Regina, with all due respect." My voice fades. _I can't ask you. _I'll get your biased, kinky-as-hell, distorted world-view regarding sex. I want an impartial opinion. "It's just about mechanics. I won't mention the Red Room of Pain."

She raises her eyebrows.

"Red Room of Pain? It's mostly about pleasure, Emma. Believe me," she says. "Besides," her tone is harsher. "Your room-mate is making the beast with two backs with my friend. I'd really rather you didn't."

"Does your family know about your... um predilection?"

"No. It's none of their business." She saunters toward me until she's standing in front of me.

"What do you want to know?" she asks, and raising her hand runs her fingers gently down my cheek to my chin, tilting my head back so she can look directly into my eyes. I squirm inwardly. I cannot lie to this woman.

"Nothing specific at the moment," I whisper.

"Well, we can start with – how was last night for you?" Her eyes burn, filled with curiosity. _She's anxious to know. Wow._

"Good," I murmur.  
Her lips lift slightly.  
"Me too," she murmurs. "I've never had vanilla sex before. There's a lot to be said for it. But then, maybe it's because it's with you." She runs her thumb across my lower lip. I inhale sharply. _Vanilla sex?_

"Come, let's have a bath." She leans up and kisses me. My heart leaps and desire pools way down low… way down _there._

The bath is a white stone, deep, egg-shaped affair, very designer. Regina leans over and fills it from the faucet on the tiled wall. She pours some expensive looking bath oil into the water. It foams as the bath fills and smells of sweet sultry Jasmine. She stands and gazes at me, her eyes dark, then peels her night gown off and casts it on the floor.

"Miss Swan." She holds her hand out.

I'm standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and wary, my arms wrapped around myself. I step forward while surreptitiously admiring her physique. She is just yummy. My subconscious swoons and passes out somewhere in the back of my head. I take her hand, and she bids me to step into the bath while I am still wearing her shirt. I do as I'm told. I'll have to get used to it if I'm going to take her up on her outrageous offer... _if! _The water is enticingly hot.

"Turn around, face me," she orders, her voice soft. I do as I'm bid. She's watching me intently.

"I know that lip is delicious, I can attest to that, but will you stop biting it?" she says through clenched teeth. "You chewing it makes me want to fuck you, and you're sore, okay?"

I gasp, automatically unlocking my lip, shocked.

"Yeah," she challenges. "Got the picture." She glares at me. I nod frantically_. I had no idea I could affect her so._

"Good." She reaches forward and takes my iPod out of the breast pocket, and she puts it by the sink.

"Water and iPods – not a clever combination," she mutters. She reaches down, grasps the hem of my white shirt, lifts it above my head, and discards it on the floor.

She stands back to gaze at me. _I'm naked for heaven's sake. _I flush crimson and stare down at my hands, level with the base of my belly, and I desperately want to disappear into the hot water and foam, but I know she won't want that.

"Hey," she summons me. I peek up at her, and her head is cocked to one side. "Emma, you're a very beautiful woman, the whole package. Don't hang your head like you're ashamed. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and it's a real joy to stand here and gaze at you." She takes my chin in her hand and tilts my head up to reach her eyes. They are soft and warm, heated even. _Oh my. _She's so close. I could just reach up and touch her.

"You can sit down now." She halts my scattered thoughts, and I scoot down into the warm, welcoming water. Ooh... it stings. Which takes me by surprise, but it smells heavenly too, and the initial smarting pain soon ebbs away. I lie back and briefly close my eyes, relaxing in the soothing warmth. When I open them, she is gazing down at me.

"Why don't you join me?" I ask, bravely I think – my voice husky.  
"I think I will. Move forward," she orders.  
She strips out of her panties and climbs in behind me. The water rises as she sits and pulls me against her chest. She places her legs over mine, her knees bent and her ankles level with mine, and she pulls her feet apart, opening my legs. I gasp in surprise. Her nose is in my hair and she inhales deeply.

"You smell so good, Emma."

A tremor runs through my whole body. _I am naked, in a bath with Regina Mills. She's naked. _If someone had told me I'd be doing this when I woke up in her hotel suite yesterday, I would not have believed them.

She reaches for a bottle of body wash from the built-in shelf beside the bath and squirts some into her hand. She rubs her hands together, creating a soft, foaming lather, and she closes her hands around my neck and starts to rub the soap into my neck and shoulders, massaging firmly with her long, strong fingers. I groan. Her hands on me feel good.

"You like that?" I hear her smile.  
"Hmm."  
She moves down my arms, then under them to my underarms washing gently. I'm so glad Ruby insisted I shave. Her hands glide across to my breasts, and I inhale sharply as her fingers encircle them and start kneading gently, taking no prisoners. My body bows instinctively, pushing my breasts into her hands. My nipples are tender. Very tender, no doubt from her less-than-delicate treatment of them last night. She doesn't linger long and glides her hands down to my stomach and belly. My breathing increases, and my heart is racing. I can feel her body heat behind me, and no it's not just the water, it's her. It's such a turn-on knowing that it's my body making her feel this way. _Ha... not your mind. _My subconscious sneers. I shake off the unwelcome thought.

She stops and reaches for a washcloth as I pant against her, wanting... needing. My hands rest on her firm, muscular thighs *Oh yes, so tone and firm legs*. Squirting more soap on to the washcloth, she leans down and washes between my legs. I hold my breath. Her fingers skillfully stimulating me through the cloth, it's heavenly, and my hips start moving at their own rhythm, pushing against her hand. As the sensations take over, I tilt my head back, my eyes rolling to the back of my head, my mouth slack, and I groan. The pressure is building slowly, inexorably inside me ... _oh my._

"Feel it, baby," Regina whispers in my ear and very gently grazes my earlobe with her teeth. "Feel it for me." My legs are pinioned by her to the side of the bath, holding me prisoner, giving her easy access to this most private part of myself.

"Oh... please," I whisper. I try to stiffen my legs as my body goes rigid. I am in a sexual thrall to this woman, and she doesn't let me move.

"I think you're clean enough now," she murmurs, and she stops. _What! No! No! No! _My breathing is ragged.

"Why are you stopping?" I gasp.  
"Because I have other plans for you Emma."  
What... oh my... but... I was... that's not fair.  
"Turn around. I need washing, too," she murmurs.  
Oh! Turning to face her. My mouth drops open. She's oh so so naked.

"I want you to become well acquainted, on first name terms if you will, with my favorite and most cherished part of my body. I'm very attached to this."

_It's so open and there. _Her core is above the water line, the water lapping at her hips. I glance up at her and come face to face with her wicked grin. She's enjoying my astounded expression. I realize that I'm staring. I swallow. _That__'__s how mine looks?_ She wants me to touch her. _Hmm_... okay, bring it on.

I smile at her and reach for the body wash, squirting some soap onto my hand. I do ass he's done, lathering the soap in my hands until they are foamy. I do not take my eyes off her. My lips are parted to accommodate my breathing... very deliberately I gently bite my bottom lip and then run my tongue across it, tracing where my teeth have been. Her eyes are serious and dark, and they widen as my tongue skims my lower lip. I reach forward and cup one of my hands around her, mirroring how she's holding herself. Her eyes close briefly. Wow... feels much softer than I expect. I push, and she places her hand over mine.

"Like this," she whispers, and she moves her hand in circles with a firm grip round my fingers, and my fingers tighten around her. She closes her eyes again, and her breath hitches in her throat. When she opens them again, her gaze is scorching molten gray. "That's right, baby."

She releases my hand, leaving me to continue alone, and closes her eyes as I move around her length. She flexes her hips slightly into my hand and reflexively I grasp her harder. A low groan escapes from deep within her throat. _Fuck my mouth... hmm. _I remember her pushing her thumb in my mouth and asking me to suck, hard. Her mouth drops open slightly as her breathing increases. I lean forward, while she has her eyes closed, and place my lips around her and tentatively run my tongue over the lips.

"Whoa... Emma." Her eyes fly open, and I suck harder.

Hmm… she's soft and sweet, like apples and it's all at once, and surprisingly tasty – salty and smooth.

"Christ," she groans, and she closes her eyes again.

Moving closer, I push myself lower, getting a better taste at her. She groans again. _Ha! _My inner goddess is thrilled. I can do this. _I can _fuck _her _with my mouth. I twirl my tongue around her clit again, and she flexes her hips. Her eyes are open now, blistering with heat. Her teeth are clenched as she flexes again, and I push myself deeper into her core, supporting myself on her thighs. I feel her legs tense beneath my hands. She reaches up and grabs my pigtails and starts to really move.

"Oh... baby... that feels good," she murmurs. I suck harder, flicking my tongue across the entrance of her core.

"Jesus. How far can you go?" she whispers.

_Hmm... _I pull in deeper into her so I can feel her closer. My tongue swirls around. She's my very own Regina Mills apple pie flavor. I suck harder and harder, pushing her deeper and deeper, swirling my tongue round and round. _Hmm... _I had no idea giving pleasure could be such a turn-on, watching her writhe subtly with carnal longing. My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.

"Emma, I'm going to come in your mouth," her breathy tone is warning. "If you don't want me to, stop now." She flexes her hips again, her eyes are wide, wary, and filled with salacious need – need for me. Need for my mouth... _oh my._

Holy crap. Her hands are really gripping my hair. I can do this. I push even harder and, in a moment of extraordinary confidence, I bare my teeth. It tips her over the edge. She cries out and stills, and I can feel warm, salty liquid oozing down my throat. I swallow quickly. Ugh... I'm not sure about this. But one look at her, and she's come apart in the bath because of me, and I don't care. I sit back and watch her, a triumphant, gloating smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Her breathing is ragged. Opening her eyes, she glares at me.

"How long is your tongue?" she asks, astonished. "Christ, Emma... that was... good, really good, unexpected though." She frowns. "You know, you never cease to amaze me."

I smile and consciously bite my lip. She eyes me speculatively.  
"Have you done that before?"  
"No." And I can't help the small tinge of pride in my denial.  
"Good," she says complacently and, I think, relieved. "Yet another first, Miss Swan."

She looks appraisingly at me. "Well, you get an A in oral skills. Come, let's go to bed, I owe you an orgasm."

_Orgasm! Another one!_

Quickly, she clambers out of the bath, giving me my first full glimpse of the Nerfetiti, divinely formed, that is Regina Mills. My inner goddess has stopped dancing and is staring too, mouth open and drooling slightly. Her body so amazingly naked, wet, toned and in front of me… wow. She wraps rob around her, covering the essentials, and holds out a larger fluffy white towel for me. Climbing out of the bath, I take her proffered hand. She wraps me in the towel, pulls me into her arms, and kisses me hard, pushing her tongue into my mouth. I long to reach round and embrace her... touch her... but she has my arms trapped in the towel. I'm soon lost in her kiss. She cradles my head, her tongue exploring my mouth, and I get a sense she's expressing her gratitude – maybe – for my first time eating her out? _Whoa?_

She pulls away, her hands on either side of my face, staring intently into my eyes. She looks lost.

"Say yes," she whispers fervently.  
I frown, not understanding.  
"To what?"  
"Yes to our arrangement. To being mine. Please, Emma," she whispers, emphasizing the last word and my name, pleading.


	11. Chapter 11: Another First?

**Hi lovelies, **

**So I'm back, I'm so sorry I took so long to update after I was updating almost everyday, but I'm back to college and that it is taking some time. Anyways here is your promise chapter I hope you enjoy it and as always hope to hear from you :) **

**XOXO -Gab95Lin**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

* * *

She kisses me again, sweetly, passionately, before she stands back and stares at me, blinking slightly. She takes my hand and leads me back to her bedroom, leaving me reeling, so I follow her meekly. Stunned. _She really wants this._

In her bedroom, she stares down at me as we stand by her bed.

"Trust me?" she asks suddenly. I nod, wide-eyed with the sudden realization that I do trust her. _What's she going to do to me now? _An electric thrill hums through me.

"Good girl," she breathes, her thumb brushing my bottom lip. She steps away into her closet and comes back with a silver-grey silk woven tie.

"Knit your hands together in front of you," she orders as she peels the towel off me and throws it on the floor.

I do as she asks, and she binds my wrists together with her tie, knotting it firmly. Her eyes are bright with wild excitement. She tugs at the binding. It's secure. _Some boy scout she must have been to learn these knots. _What now? My pulse has gone through the roof, my heart beating a frantic tattoo. She runs her fingers down my pigtails.

"You look so young with these," she murmurs and moves forward. Instinctively, I move back until I feel the bed against the back of my knees. She drops her robe, she has only her brain, how odd?, but I can't take my eyes off her face. Her expression is ardent, full of desire.

"Oh, Emma, what shall I do to you?" she whispers as she lowers me on to the bed, lying beside me, and raising my hands above my head.

"Keep your hands up here, don't move them, understand?" Her eyes burn into mine, and I'm breathless from their intensity. This is not a woman I want to cross... ever.

"Answer me," she demands, her voice soft.  
"I won't move my hands." I'm breathless.  
"Good girl," she murmurs and deliberately licks her lips slowly. I'm mesmerized by her tongue as it sweeps slowly over her upper lip. She's staring into my eyes, watching me, appraising. She leans down and plants a chaste, swift kiss on my lips.

"I'm going to kiss you all over, Miss Swan," she says softly, and she cups my chin, pushing it up giving her access to my throat. Her lips glide down my throat, kissing, sucking, and nipping, to the small dip at the base of my neck. My body leaps to attention... everywhere. My recent bath experience has made my skin hyper-sensitive. My heated blood pools low in my belly, between my legs, right down _there. _I groan.

I want to touch her. I move my hands and rather awkwardly, given I'm restrained, feel her hair. She stops kissing me and glares up at me, shaking her head from side to side, tutting as she does. She reaches for my hands and places them above my head again.

"Don't move your hands, or we just have to start all over again," she scolds me mildly. Oh, she's such a tease.

"I want to touch you." My voice is all breathy and out of control.

"I know," she murmurs. "Keep your hands above your head," she orders, her voice forceful.

She cups my chin again and starts to kiss my throat as before. Oh… she's so frustrating. Her hands run down my body and over my breasts as she reaches the dip at the base of my neck with her lips. She swirls the tip of her nose around it then begins a very leisurely cruise with her mouth, heading south, following the path of her hands, down my sternum to my breasts. Each one is kissed and nipped gently and my nipples tenderly sucked. _Holy crap. _My hips start swaying and moving of their own accord, grinding to the rhythm of her mouth on me, and I'm desperately trying to remember to keep my hands above my head.

"Keep still," she warns, her breath warm against my skin. Reaching my navel, she dips her tongue inside, and then gently grazes my belly with her teeth. My body bows off the bed.

"Hmm. You are so sweet, Miss Swan." Her nose glides along the line between my belly and my pubic hair, biting me gently, teasing me with her tongue. Sitting up suddenly, she kneels at my feet, grasping both my ankles and spreading my legs wide.

_Holy shit. _She grabs my left foot, bends my knee, and brings my foot up to her mouth. Watching and assessing my every reaction, she tenderly kisses each of my toes then bites each one of them softly on the pads. When she reaches my little toe, she bites harder, and I convulse, whimpering. She glides her tongue up my instep – and I can no longer watch her. It's too erotic. I'm going to combust. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to absorb and manage all the sensations he's creating. He kisses my ankle and trails kisses up my calf to my knee, stopping just above. She then starts on my right foot, repeating the whole, seductive, mind-blowing process.

"Oh, please," I moan as she bites my little toe, the action resonating deep in my belly. "All good things, Miss Swan," she breathes.  
This time she doesn't stop at my knee, she continues up the inside of my thigh, pushing my thighs apart as she does. And I know what she's going to do, and part of me wants to push her off because I'm mortified and embarrassed. She's going to kiss me _there! _I know it. And part of me is glorying in the anticipation. She turns to my other knee and kisses her way up my thigh, kissing, licking, sucking, and then she's between my legs, running her nose up and down my sex, very softly, very gently. I writhe... _oh my._

She stops, waiting for me to calm. I do and raise my head to gaze at her, my mouth open as my pounding heart struggles to come out.

"Do you know how intoxicating you smell, Miss Swan?" she murmurs, and keeping her eyes on mine, she pushes her nose into my pubic hair and inhales.

I flush scarlet, everywhere, feeling faint, and I instantly close my eyes. I can't watch her do that!

She blows gently up the length of my sex. _Oh fuck...  
_"I like this." She gently tugs at my pubic hair. "Perhaps we'll keep this." "Oh... please," I beg.  
"Hmm, I like it when you beg me, Emma."

I groan.

"Tit for tat is not my usual style, Miss Swan," she whispers as she gently blows up and down me. "But you've pleased me today, and you should be rewarded." I hear the wicked grin in her voice, and while my body is singing from her words, her tongue starts to slowly circle my clitoris as her hands hold down my thighs.

"Aargh!" I moan as my body bows and convulses at the touch of her tongue.

She swirls her tongue round and round, again and again, keeping up the torture. I'm losing all sense of self, every atom of my being concentrating hard on that small, potent powerhouse at the apex of my thighs. My legs go rigid, and she slips her finger inside me, and I hear her growling groan.

"Oh, baby. I love that you're so wet for me."

She moves her finger in a wide circle, stretching me, pulling at me, her tongue mirroring her actions, round and round, I groan. It is too much... My body begs for relief, and I can no longer deny it. I let go, losing all cogent thought as my orgasm seizes me, wringing my insides again and again. _Holy fuck. _I cry out, and the world dips and disappears from view as the force of my climax renders everything null and void.

I am panting and vaguely hear the rip of foil. Very slowly she eases into me again and starts to move. Oh... my. The feeling is sore and sweet, and bold and gentle all at once.

"How's this?" she breathes.

"Fine. Good," I breathe. And she really starts to move her fingers, fast, hard, and large, thrusting into me over and over, implacable, pushing me and pushing me until I am close to the edge again. I whimper.

"Come for me, baby." Her voice is harsh, hard, raw at my ear, and I explode around her as she pounds rapidly into me.

"Thank fuck," she whispers, and she thrusts hard once more and groans as she reaches his climax, pressing herself into me. Then she stills, her body rigid.

Collapsing on top of me, I feel her full weight forcing me into the mattress. I pull my tied hands over her neck and hold her the best I can. I know in that moment that I would do anything for this woman. I am hers. The wonder that she's introduced me to, it's beyond anything I could have imagined. And she wants to take it further, so much further, to a place I can't, in my innocence, even imagine. _Oh... what to do?_

She leans up on her elbows and stares down at me, brown eyes intense.

"See how good we are together," she murmurs. "If you give yourself to me, it will be so much better. Trust me, Emma, I can take you places you don't even know exist." Her words echo my thoughts. She strokes her nose against mine. I am still reeling from my extraordinary physical reaction to her, and I gaze up at her blankly, grasping for a coherent thought.

Suddenly we both become aware of voices in the hall outside his bedroom door. It takes a moment to process what I can hear.

"_But if she's still in bed, then she must be ill. She's never in bed at this time. Regina never sleeps in."_

"_Mrs. Mills, please."  
"Taylor. You cannot keep me from my son." "Mrs. Taylor, she's not alone."_

"_What do you mean she's not alone?"  
"She has someone with her."  
" Oh... " _Even I hear the disbelief in her voice.  
Regina blinks rapidly, staring down at me, wide-eyed with humored horror. "Shit! It's my mother."

She pulls her finger out of me suddenly. I wince.

"Come on, we need to get dressed – that's if you want to meet my mother." She grins, leaps up off the bed, and pulls on her fancy pants and the same shirt she wore yesterday, no underwear! Well except her bra, but nothing under there! I struggle to sit up as I'm still tethered.

"Regina - I can't move."

Her grin widens, and leaning down, she undoes the tie. The woven pattern has made an indented pattern around my wrists. It's... sexy. She gazes at me. She's amused, he eyes dancing with mirth. She kisses my forehead quickly and beams at me.

"Another first," she acknowledges, but I have no idea what she's talking about.

"I have no clean clothes in here." I am filled with sudden panic, and considering what I've just experienced, I'm finding the panic overwhelming. Her mother! _Holy crap. _I have no clean clothes, and she's practically walked in on us in flagrante delicto. "Perhaps I should stay here."

"Oh, no, you don't," Regina threatens. "You can wear something of mine." She runs her hand through her just-fucked hair. In spite of my anxiety, I lose my train of thought. Will I ever get used to looking at this beautiful woman? Her beauty is derailing.

"Emma, you could be wearing a sack and you'd look lovely. Please don't worry. I'd like you to meet my mother. Get dressed. I'll just go and calm her down." Her mouth presses into a hard line. "I will expect you in that room in five minutes, otherwise I'll come and drag you out of here myself in whatever you're wearing. My t-shirts are in this drawer. My shirts are in the closet. Help yourself." She eyes me speculatively for a moment, then leaves the room.

_Holy shit. Regina's mother. _This is so much more than I bargained for. Perhaps meeting her will help put a little part of the jigsaw in place. Might help me understand why Regina is the way she is... Suddenly, I want to meet her. I pull my shirt off the floor, and I'm pleased to discover that it has survived the night well with hardly any creases. I find my blue bra under the bed and dress quickly. But if there's one thing I hate, it's not wearing clean panties. I rifle through Regina's chest of drawers and come across her boy cut briefs. After pulling on a pair of tight black Victoria Secret's, I tug on my jeans and my Converse.

Grabbing my jacket, I dash into the bathroom and stare at my too-bright eyes, my flushed face – and my hair! Holy crap... just-fucked pigtails do not suit me either. I hunt in the vanity unit for a brush and find a comb. It will have to do. A ponytail is the only answer. I despair at my clothes. Maybe I should take Regina up on her offer of clothes. My subconscious purses her lips and mouths the word 'ho'. I ignore her. Struggling into my jacket, pleased that the cuffs cover the tell-tale patterns from his tie, I take a last anxious glance at myself in the mirror. This will have to do. I make my way into the main living room.

"Here she is." Regina stands from where she's lounging on the couch.

Her expression is warm and appreciative. The chocolate-haired woman beside her turns and beams at me, a full megawatt smile. She stands too. She's impeccably attired in a camel-colored fine knit sweater dress with matching shoes. She looks groomed, elegant, beautiful, and inside I die a little, knowing I look such a mess.

"Mother, this is Emma Swan. Emma, this is Cora Heart Mills."  
Dr. Mills holds her hand out to me. _... for Hearts?  
_"What a pleasure to meet you," she murmurs. If I'm not mistaken, there is wonder and maybe stunned relief in her voice and a warm glow in her hazel eyes. I grasp her hand, and I can't help but smile, returning her warmth.

"Dr. Hearts," I murmur.

"Call me Cora," she grins, and Regina frowns. "I am usually Dr. Hearts, and Mrs. Mills is my mother-in-law." She winks. "So how did you two meet?" She looks questioningly at Regina, unable to hide her curiosity.

"Emma interviewed me for the student paper at WSU because I'm conferring the degrees there this week."

_Double crap. _I'd forgotten that.  
"So you are graduating this week?" Cora asks.  
"Yes."  
My cell phone starts ringing. _Ruby, I bet.  
_"Excuse me." It's in the kitchen. I wander over and lean across the breakfast bar, not checking the number. "Ruby."

"Dios mio! Emma!" _Holy crap, it's José. _He sounds desperate. "Where are you? I've been trying to contact you. I need to see you, to apologize for my behavior on Friday. Why haven't you returned my calls?"

"Look José, now's not a good time." I glance anxiously over at Regina who's watching me intently, her face impassive as she murmurs something to her mom. I turn my back to her.

"Where are you? Ruby is being so evasive," he whines.  
"I'm in Seattle."  
"What are you doing in Seattle? Are you with her?"  
"José, I'll call you later. I can't talk to you now." I hang up.  
I walk as nonchalantly back to Regina and her mother. Cora is in full flow.  
"... And Belle called to say you were around – I haven't seen you for two weeks, darling."

"Did she now?" Regina murmurs, gazing at me, her expression unreadable.  
"I thought we might have lunch together, but I can see you have other plans, and I don't want to interrupt your day." She gathers up her long cream coat and turns to her, offering her her cheek. She kisses her briefly, sweetly. Cora doesn't touch her.

"I have to drive Emma back to Portland."

"Of course, darling. Emma, it's been such a pleasure. I do hope we meet again." She holds her hand out to me, her eyes glowing, and we shake.

Taylor appears from... _where?  
_"Mrs. Mills?" he asks.  
"Thank you, Taylor." He escorts her from the room and through the double doors to the foyer. Taylor was here the whole time? How long has he been here? Where has he been? Regina glares at me.

"So the photographer called?"  
_Crap._

"Yes."  
"What did he want?"  
"Just to apologize, you know – for Friday."  
Regina narrows her eyes.  
"I see," she says simply.  
Taylor reappears.  
"Mr. Mills, there's an issue with the Darfur shipment."  
Regina nods curtly at her.  
"Evil Queen back at Boeing Field?"  
"Yes mam."  
Taylor nods at me.  
"Miss Swan."  
I smile tentatively back at him, and he turns and leaves.  
"Does he live here? Taylor?"  
"Yes." Her tone is clipped. _What is her problem?_

Regina heads over to the kitchen and picks up her BlackBerry, scrolling through some emails, I assume. Her mouth presses in a hard line, and she makes a call.

"Sidney, what's the issue?" she snaps. She listens, watching me, brown eyes speculative, as I stand in the middle of the huge room wondering what to do with myself, feeling extraordinarily self-conscious and out of place.

"I'm not having either crew put at risk. No, cancel... We'll air drop instead... Good." She hangs up. The warmth in her eyes has disappeared. She looks forbidding, and with one quick glance at me, she heads into her study and returns a moment later.

"This is the contract. Read it, and we'll discuss it next weekend. May I suggest you do some research, so you know what's involved." She pauses. "That's if you agree, and I really hope you do." She adds, her tone softer, anxious.

"Research?"  
"You'll be amazed what you can find on the Internet," she murmurs.  
Internet! I don't have access to a computer, only Ruby's laptop, and I couldn't use Clayton's, not for this sort of 'research' surely?

"What is it?" she asks, cocking her head to one side.  
"I don't have a computer. I'll see if I can use Ruby's laptop."  
She hands me a manila envelope.  
"I'm sure I can... err, lend you one. Grab your things, we'll drive back to Portland and grab some lunch on the way. I need to dress."

"I'll just make a call," I murmur. I just want to hear Ruby's voice. She frowns.  
"The photographer?" Her jaw clenches, and her eyes burn. I blink at her. "I don't like to share, Miss Swan. Remember that." Her quiet, chilling tone is a warning, and with one long, cold look at me, she heads back to the bedroom.

Holy crap. I just wanted to call Ruby, I want to call after her, but her sudden aloofness has left me paralyzed. What happened to the generous, relaxed, smiling woman who was making love to me not half an hour ago?

* * *

"Ready?" Regina asks as we stand by the double doors to the foyer.

I nod uncertainly. She's resumed her distant, polite, uptight persona, her mask back up and on show. She's carrying a leather messenger bag. Why does she need that? Perhaps she's staying in Portland, and then I remember graduation. Oh yes... she'll be there on Thursday. She's wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans and a black button up shirt with black pumps. She certainly doesn't look like the multi-multi million- aire, billionaire, what-ever-aire, in these clothes. She looks like a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, maybe a badly behaved rock star or a catwalk model. I sigh inwardly, wishing I had a tenth of her poise. She's so calm and controlled. I frown, recalling her outburst about José... Well, she seems to be.

Taylor is hovering in the background.  
"Tomorrow then," she says to Taylor who nods.  
"Yes mam. Which car are you taking, mam?"  
She looks down at me briefly.  
"The R8."  
"Safe trip, Mr. Mills. Miss Swan." Taylor looks kindly at me, though perhaps there's a hint of pity hidden in the depths of his eyes.

No doubt he thinks I've succumbed to Mr. Mills's dubious sexual habits. Not yet,

just her exceptional sexual habits, or perhaps sex is like that for everyone. I frown at the thought. I have no comparison, and I can't ask Ruby. That's something I am going to have to address with Regina. It's perfectly natural that I should talk to someone – and I can't talk to her if she is so open one minute and so standoffish the next.

Taylor holds the door open for us and ushers us through. Regina summons the elevator.

"What is it, Emma?" she asks. How does she know I'm chewing something over in my mind? She reaches up and pulls my chin.

"Stop biting your lip, or I will fuck you in the elevator, and I don't care who gets in with us."

I blush, but there's a hint of a smile around her lips, finally her mood seems to be shifting.

"Regina, I have a problem."  
"Oh?" I have her full attention.  
The elevator arrives. We walk in, and Regina presses the button marked G.  
"Well," I flush. How to say this? "I need to talk to Ruby. I've so many questions about sex, and you're too involved. If you want me to do all these things, how do I know–?" I pause, struggling to find the right words. "I just don't have any terms of reference."

She rolls her eyes at me.

"Talk to her if you must." She sounds exasperated. "Make sure she doesn't mention anything to Belle."

I bristle at her insinuation. Ruby isn't like that.

"She wouldn't do that, and I wouldn't tell you anything she tells me about Belle – if she were to tell me anything," I add quickly.

"Well, the difference is that I don't want to know about her sex life," Regina murmurs dryly. "Belle's a nosy bastard. But only about what we've done so far," she warns. "She'd probably have my ovaries if she knew what I wanted to do to you," she adds so softly I'm not sure I'm supposed to hear it.

"Okay," I agree readily, smiling up at her, relieved. The thought of Ruby with Regina's ovaries is not something I want to dwell on.

Her lip quirks up at me, and she shakes her head.  
"The sooner I have your submission the better, and we can stop all this," she murmurs. "Stop all what?"  
"You, defying me." She reaches down and cups my chin and plants a swift, sweet kiss on my lips as the doors to the elevator open. She grabs my hand and leads me into the underground garage.

Me, defying her... how?

Beside the elevator, I can see the black 4x4 Audi, but it's the sleek, black sporty number that blips open and lights up when she points the key fob at it. It's one of those cars that should have a very leggy blonde, wearing nothing but a sash, sprawled across the hood.

"Nice car," I murmur dryly.  
She glances up and grins.  
"I know," she says, and for a split second, sweet, young, carefree Regina is back. It warms my heart. She's so excited. Boys and their toys, oh wait she's not a boy, but boy does she have a great taste for cars!. I roll my eyes at her but can't stifle my smile. She opens the door for me and I climb in. Whoa... it's low. She moves round the car with easy grace and folds her long frame elegantly in beside me. How does she do that?

"So what sort of car is this?"

"It's an Audi R8 Spyder. It's a lovely day, we can take the top down. There's a baseball cap in there. In fact there should be two." She points to the glove box. "And sunglasses if you want them."

She starts the ignition, and the engine roars behind us. She places her bag in the space behind our seats, presses a button, and the roof slowly reclines. With the flick of a switch, Bruce Springsteen surrounds us.

"Gotta love Bruce," she grins at me and eases the car out of the parking space, and up the steep ramp where we pause for the barrier.

Then we're out into the bright Seattle May morning. I reach into the glove box and retrieve the baseball caps. The Mariners. She likes baseball? I pass her a cap, and she puts it on. I pass my ponytail through the back of mine and pull the peak down low. She doesn't do it, her short hair is easily manageable inside the cap. She looks stunning as always.

People stare at us as we drive through the streets. For a moment, I think it's at her... and then a very paranoid part thinks everyone is looking at me because they know what I've been doing during the last twelve hours, but finally, I realize it's the car. Regina seems oblivious, lost in thought.

The traffic is light and we're soon on the I-5 heading south, the wind sweeping over our heads. Bruce is singing about being on fire and his desire. How apt. I flush as I listen to the words. Regina glances at me. She's got her Ray-Bans on so I can't see what she's thinking. Her mouth twitches slightly, and she reaches across and places her hand on my knee, squeezing gently. My breath hitches.

"Hungry?" she asks.

Not for food.

"Not particularly."  
Her mouth tightens into that hard line.  
"You must eat, Emma," she chides. "I know a great place near Olympia. We'll stop there." She squeezes my knee again, and then returns her hand to the steering wheel as she puts his foot down on the gas. I'm pressed into the back of my seat. Boy this car can move.

The restaurant is small and intimate, a wooden chalet in the middle of a forest. The décor is rustic: random chairs and tables with gingham tablecloths, wild flowers in little vases. Cuisine Sauvage, it boasts above the door.

"I've not been here for a while. We don't get a choice – they cook whatever they've caught or gathered." She raises her eyebrows in mock horror, and I have to laugh. The waitress takes our drinks order. She flushes when she sees Regina, avoiding eye contact with her, hiding under her long blonde bangs. She likes her! It's not just me!

"Two glasses of the Pinot Grigio," Regina says with a voice of authority. I purse my lips, exasperated.

"What?" she snaps.  
"I wanted a Diet Coke," I whisper.  
Her dark eyes narrow, and she shakes her head.

"The Pinot Grigio here's a decent wine, it will go well with the meal, whatever we get." She says patiently.

"Whatever we get?"

"Yes." She smiles, her dazzling, head cocked to one side smile, and my stomach pole vaults over my spleen. I can't help but reflect her glorious smile back at her.

"My mother liked you," she says dryly.  
"Really?" Her words make me flush with pleasure.  
"Oh yes. She's always thought I was lesbian."  
My mouth drops open, and I remember that question... from the interview. Oh no. "Why did she think you were lesbian?" I whisper.  
"Because she's never seen me with a man."  
"Oh... not even one of the fifteen?"  
She smiles.  
"You remembered. No, none of the fifteen."  
"Oh."  
"You know, Emma, it's been a weekend of firsts for me, too," she says quietly.  
"It has?"  
"I've never slept with anyone, never had sex in my bed, never flown a girl in Evil Queen, never introduced a woman to my mother. What are you doing to me?" Her eyes burn, their intensity takes my breath away.

The waitress arrives with our glasses of wine, and I immediately take a quick sip. Is she opening up or just making a casual observation?

"I've really enjoyed this weekend," I murmur. She narrows he eyes at me again. "Stop biting that lip," she growls. "Me too," she adds.  
"What's vanilla sex?" I ask, if anything to distract myself from the intense, burning, sexy look she's giving me. She laughs.

"Just straightforward sex, Emma. No toys, no added extras." She shrugs. "You know... well actually you don't, but that's what it means."

"Oh." I thought it was chocolate fudge brownie sex that we had, with a cherry on the top. But hey, what do I know?

The waitress brings us soup. We both stare at it rather dubiously.  
"Nettle soup," the waitress informs us before turning and flouncing back into the kitchen. I don't think she likes to be ignored by Regina. I take a tentative taste. It's delicious. Regina and I look up at each other at the same time with relief. I giggle, and she cocks her head to one side.

"That's a lovely sound," she murmurs.

"Why have you never had vanilla sex before? Have you always done... err, what you've done?" I ask, intrigued.

She nods slowly.

"Sort of." Her voice is wary. She frowns for a moment and seems to be engaged in some kind of internal struggle. Then she glances up, a decision made. "One of my mother's friends seduced me when I was fifteen."

"Oh." Holy shit that's young!


End file.
